


Between the Rainbows and the Rain

by KukuiOlelo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cowboy AU, Hawaiian Hunk (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, I honestly stopped watching in season five, M/M, Paniolo, Period Typical Attitudes, Slow Burn, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, broganes, but you know what I'm writing this out of spite, canon is an old newspaper and I'm making a collage with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KukuiOlelo/pseuds/KukuiOlelo
Summary: There was someone new in Kailua, Kona.Hunk stopped the first time he saw him. A man, dressed in strange clothing, leaned against a house’s grass thatch in the town square with the air of someone who didn’t have much to do but wait.In 1832, King Kamehameha III brought three Mexican Vaquero from California to the island of Hawaiʻi. They were hired to round up the wild cattle that wandered the mountainside, and to teach the local Hawaiians to do the same.
Relationships: Hunk & Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk/Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 18





	1. A Poor Wayfaring Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunakoa sees a strange man down in the town square and gets an interesting introduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paniolo: a cowboy from the Hawaiian tradition of cattle ranching, predating the American West.
> 
> No content warnings for this chapter.

There was someone new in Kailua, Kona. 

Hunakoa stopped, the first time he saw him. A man, dressed in strange clothing, leaned against a house’s grass thatch in the town square with the air of someone who didn’t have much to do but wait.

There weren't often newcomers to Kailua. Kailua was a town where no one came and no one left, at least not for more than a fortnight. There were the whalers and the traders and the fisherman who came through - they would stick around a night or five, tearing through the town in a drunken stupor and leaving the missionaries flustered and righteous - but those men would always leave, fast enough. They’d board their ships again and leave with the next favorable wind at their backs, too fast to be chased by their misdeeds.

This new man, however, did not look like he was leaving. He was tall, at least compared to the stout, tightly-laced missionaries and bent-backed whalers at the ports, faces carved from the salt and the slash of knives. 

Unlike those men as well, this new stranger didn’t look haole. His skin was a sun-scarred brown, too dark for the haole visitors and Chinese traders who came through the ports. It wasn’t the rich earthy brown of the local Hawaiians either, or of the islanders come from down south with tales of fresh invaders. Not fertile. Scorched. 

His clothes too were unlike any Hunakoa had seen. A hat covered his eyes, tannish brown and scuffed around the edges. It was wide brimmed, wider even than those worn by foreign captains and explorers, the kind who came to Hawai’i with gold tassled swords on their belts and a mercenary gleam in their eyes.

He wore a blue piece of cloth over his shoulders, something heavy and well worn, and a strange pair of leather pants. And affixed to his leather shoes, worn to a shine on the inside heel, were a wicked looking pair of iron stars, catching the morning light with a well honed glint. 

The stranger’s head tilted up, and his gaze locked onto Hunakoa. In the middle of that sun scorched face, the stranger’s eyes gleamed bright and sparkling, sharper than a swordfish’s fin.

Hunakoa snapped his gaze down. That man, whoever he may turn out to be, was not a man he wanted to face. Hunakoa hoisted his sack onto his shoulder, rough burlap scraping bare skin, and kept walking, away from that man and away from the center of Kailua.

* * *

Hunakoa walked out of town, and the grass thatched hale gave way to scratchy palm trees and scrub. It was strangely hot for this time of year. The beginning of the wet season would come soon, when the Makahiki would bring his sisters’ work to a standstill for the festivities. 

Or, it used to.

Hunakoa passed by the church as he reached the dwindling edges of town. To call that building a church was generous, in truth. It was larger than the average hale, about twice the size, and a lovingly carved wooden cross was affixed over the door. A pile of stones, big ones hefted from the lava fields long ago, was stacked up nearby. 

The rumor was that the missionaries were planning to build a church. A real church, according to them, with stone foundations and wooden walls. Something befitting of their God. The missionaries, Hunakoa supposed, were here to stay. 

Past the church was the heiau, or at least what was left of it. The tiki were burned, the faces of Ku and Lono charred black and cracking, and the remaining stones still seemed to strain with the force of the fire. Part of one wall was missing, Hunakoa noticed, the stones collapsing inwards around the gap. They were probably taken to the church, hauled along by devotees or maka'āinana trying to curry favor, to someday be used in its foundations. 

Hunakoa remembered when the heiau was burned, long ago. He remembered holding his sisters back as the missionaries’ chosen set fire to the gods. He almost laughed, back then, when he saw Kanaloa go up in flames.

* * *

The fishermen were just coming in when Hunakoa reached the bay. Sun-kissed men and women jumped into the shallow waters, hauling with tanned arms and broad backs to pull their canoes to the shore. 

Hunakoa scanned the waves until he caught sight of a familiar pair of strong shoulders. Palakuma, with a rope belt and long hair twisting down her back, turned towards the shore. Her eyes lit up with she saw Hunakoa. She waved at her men to keep going and turned to splash toward the shore. 

“Hunakoa,” she said. “There you are.” 

Hunakoa waved a greeting at her. “Hey Pala,” he said. “How’s it going?”

Palakuma stopped to wring out her hair, then whipped it back over her shoulders. “Same as usual. Better than last week, at least.”

Hunakoa chuckled. “Tell me about it. What’s coming in today?”

Pala grinned. “‘Ōpelu, mostly,” she said, jerking a thumb back at the canoe. “But we caught some aku too.”

“Aku?” Hunakoa whistled. “Nice.”

“Yeah,” Pala said. “You should take it while you can. The kapu season is coming up fast.”

Hunakoa shrugged. “I guess it’s just that time of year.”

“That time of year.” Pala sucked her teeth. “I know the kapu is dead and all, but it still doesn’t feel right to take aku. Not this time of year.”

Hunk nodded. “I know what you mean. My sister Kahue still won’t eat bananas. She says it feels like she shouldn’t, like someone’s watching over her shoulder.”

Pala snapped her fingers. “Exactly, that’s exactly what it feels like. It just doesn’t feel right.” Pala shook her head. “Aue, the kapu was there for a reason, you know. Damn Ka’ahumanu and her dog of a son-” Palakuma cut herself off sharply, eyes wide. She glanced back at her men, then cleared her throat. “God rest her soul, I mean. Forget that last part, would you.”

Hunakoa waved her off. “Already forgotten.” But the looseness of her tongue still made him uneasy. The last thing he wanted was Palakuma being overheard speaking ill of the King. 

The silence that followed was one Hunakoa would have described as rocky at best. He ran his hand through his hair in a way he hoped read as casual. “Have you heard any rumors lately?” He said. His mind strayed back to the stranger in town. If anyone knew about him, Pala would. 

Palakuma pursed her lips. “Huh, well, I heard from some other fishers that the Russians might be making a move on Kaua’i again.” She shrugged. “With all the haoles around, they’ll have to make fast to make a claim.”

Hunakoa snorted. “It’s not going to work, trust me.”

Pala quirked her eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

“I remember the first time the Russians tried to make a claim.” He said. “It didn’t go well for them on Kaua’i.”

Pala shrugged. “If you say so.” she said. “Akua, I don’t want any Lukia setting up shop. We have enough haoles around Kona already.”

“Don’t worry,” Hunakoa said. “Even if they take Kaua’i, they won’t make it to us.”

A man’s voice sounded from the shore. “‘Eā, Pala.” Hunakoa turned to see that Palakuma’s canoe had reached shore. Two men straightened up from where they were pushing it onto shore, Pala’s cousins, he thought. 

Palakuma shouted back. “‘Eā, I’m coming.” She strode down to the canoe and heaved a net of fish from off it’s hull. She hauled the net up the shore and dropped it at Hunakoa’s feet. “So,” she said, “What have you got for me?” 

Hunakoa slung the burlap sack off his shoulder. “Fish nets,” he said, “made by Na’auao.” Hunakoa didn’t want to brag, but his sister was known for her handiwork with nets. They were precise and strongly made, and he couldn’t help but smirk with pride as Pala leaned in with interest. 

“Let me see that.” Pala said. Hunakoa handed the sack to her and she pulled out the net. She examined it and hummed. “I’d say this is worth about two dozen. How does that sound?”

“If I throw in some cordage, will you make it thirty? ‘Akia has been eating like a mo’o lately.”

Pala nodded. “Deal.” She threw the net towards one of her men and started counting out the fish. Hunakoa knelt down next to her and took the spare cord out of his sack, winding it up into a manageable hank. 

Pala threw the last fish into Hunakoa’s bag. She fished an aku out of her own net and tossed it to Hunakoa. “One extra for ‘Akia.” She smiled. “Say hello to her for me.”

Hunakoa smiled back and stood up, slinging his sack back over his shoulder. “Will do. See you later, Pala.”

“Yeah, see ya.” Palakuma frowned. “Hunakoa?”

“Yeah?”

“I saw a new ship coming in today.” Her brow was furrowed now, eyes darkened as she scanned the ocean. “A big one, like the trading ships from California.” She scanned the horizon, back and forth. “I’ve got a feeling about it. Keep an eye out, alright?”

“A good feeling or a bad feeling?” 

“Good, I think.”

Hunakoa nodded. “Good. I’ll see you later then.” He hoisted his sack over his shoulder. Pala waved a farewell and ran back down to the shore, sand kicking up at her heels. Hunakoa started back on the path towards town, wet fish still twitching against his back. Pala’s feeling, and that Californian ship, may be worth more notice than it had been given. 

* * *

The sun was growing low in the sky by the time Hunakoa got home. It was a warm afternoon. A pleasant tradewinds blew across the scrubland and through the trees. Hunakoa’s hale appeared over the top of a hill. It was a larger hale, for maka’āinana, at least, with solidly thatched walls and a roof that refused to leak, even in the heaviest rain. 

It was a good house. It was home. 

Hunakoa shouted as he crested the hill. “Hey, I’m back.”

Four women sat cross legged under a breadfruit tree, hala weaving and half finished lengths of cord arranged in their laps. Dark haired and smiling, the youngest pushed her weaving off her lap. She scrambled to her feet and ran towards Hunakoa. “Huna!” she cried out. “What’d you get? Is it good?”

Hunakoa smiled. “Hey ‘Akia.” He ruffled her hair, and she squawked indignantly, batting his hands away to flatten it again. “Just some fish from the bay. Palakuma says hello, by the way.” Hunakoa nodded towards the three other women. “Hey, is everything fine here?”

The oldest, a square faced woman with a scar on her lip, rolled her eyes. “We’re fine, Huna.” She flicked a hand at him. “Shoo. Go do whatever it is you do.”

Hunakoa sighed. “I love you too, Kahue.” He settled by the door of the hale, dropping the sack of fish by his side. The fish needed to be preserved soon. They’d go rancid before the eight of them could finish even half of the catch, if they were left alone. Hunakoa retrieved a tool with one hand, a sharp edged ‘opihi shell, and a fish with the other. He slit it down the middle and butterflied its sides out to dry in the fading sun. 

A woman sat down next to him, proud looking and stoick, and Hunakoa wordlessly passed her a second ‘opihi. She set to work as well on the fish before speaking. “Did you get everything done in town?”

Hunakoa nodded. “Everything went fine.” He sliced open another fish. “How about you, Pi’ikea? You went to town too, right?”

Pi’ikea nodded. “Yes. I delivered Mrs. Gunderson’s hala mats. I did her some people talking in town. The ali’i are going to raise the tax.” Her hand didn’t stop as she worked, but a muscle in her jaw ticked with the effort of not clenching it.

That stilled Hunakoa’s hand. “How much?”

“One Spanish dollar per person. Cash.” Pi’ikea turned towards him, brow creased.

Hunakoa ran through the members of their household, and his chest sank. “Oh.”

“I know,” Pi’ikea said, “It’s not good.”

“We could try selling more,” Hunakoa said, “Maybe make things for the traders at the docks.”

Pi’ikea shook her head. “What could we make? They have no use for hala weaving. Have you heard anything from the church? The Gundersons may have work for us.”

Hunakoa shook his head. “I heard they weren’t paying.”

Pi’ikea clucked her tongue. “The visiting haoles could always use a maid. Kahue could do that, or Na’auao.”

Hunakoa snorted. “Oh yeah, that would be great. Na’a would tear them apart.” He paused to clean fish scales off of the shell. “But I don’t know how we would find those jobs. It’s hard enough to get dockwork, these days.”

Pi’ikea hummed, and the crease on her forehead only grew deeper.

Hunakoa bit his lip. “I- I could always cut sandalwood.” he said. “Ten or so harvests, and we’d be fine.”

Pi’ikea shook her head sharply. “No. I’m not sending you to that.”

“But-”

“I said no. Sandalwood has been dead work for years now. It’s not worth that.” She turned towards Hunakoa, and her face softened. “We’ll find another way, Huna.” 

Feet sounded against the hard packed path, and Hunakoa’s attention snapped away from Pi’ikea. ‘Akia appeared with a large lauhala mat clutched in her arms. “I’m finished!” She said, dropping the mat at Hunakoa’s feet.

Pi’ikea nodded her approval. “Good, you’re getting faster.”

‘Akia tried and failed to hide her proud smile. “I am,” she said. “Hey Huna, could you take it to the big house?” Hunakoa glanced pointedly at the sun, a few hands breadths away from the horizon, and ‘Akia pouted. “Please?”

“Fine, I’ll take it.” Hunakoa stood. He tossed the ‘opihi shell to ‘Akia. “Help out Pi’i, would you? We’ve got a lot of fish to dry.” 

‘Akia dropped down next to Pi’ikea and set to work. Hunakoa hoisted the hala mat on his shoulder, a thick one, by the feel of it, and turned to leave. 

“Huna.” He turned back at the sound of Pi’ikea’s voice. She gave him a subtle nod. “Good luck.” He nodded and began his walk back into town. 

* * *

The strange man was gone by the time Hunakoa reached the center of town, but his mind was swimming with too many other matters to care. The tax was high, there was no denying that. Their family, Hunakoa and his sisters, they did not usually make money. They traded, working off the good will of their neighbors and the harvest of their own garden. Hunakoa suspected they didn’t have two Spanish dollars between then, let alone eight. 

The big house loomed over the town ahead. It lived up to its name, a huge hale with a roof easily twice as tall as Hunakoa. It was a grand house, rightfully fit for royalty. Hunakoa dropped the mat by the front door. The ali’i of the district lived here, and Hunakoa didn’t dare knock. 

The sun was getting low, with the edges of it rubbing against the ocean to the west. Hunakoa turned away from the big house and walked towards the center of town. 

Taxes. They’d have to figure out something.

In the town square, a posted notice caught Hunakoa’s eye. It was pinned to the fence, hammered in with a simple iron spike and written in large, deliberate letters. Hawaiian and English. 

WANTED, young fit men for paying work

To be trained as Cattle Wranglers for the lands of King Kamehameha III

Moderately Dangerous, be prepared for unexpected change

No experience required, Good Pay after training

Interested men to meet at Noon Tomorrow on this spot, the town square of Kailua Town

L S y A

Hunakoa read through the signs text, both in English and Hawaiian. The texts matched, save some small translation errors. The handwriting was sure, though a bit inexpert in form, and the paper it was written on was thick and cleanly cut, too expensive for the average sailor or unsavory trader. In short, it did not look like a scam. 

A good paying job with no experience required. That seemed too good to pass up. If it was legitimate, this job could solve their problem. Or if it was a scam, some scheme run by an unscrupulous bullock hunter or a visiting “naturalist” trying to wheedle free labor out of the desperate men of the island, it could doom them even more. 

But did they - did Hunakoa - have a choice?

The meeting was tomorrow. Noon in the town square, public enough to avoid suspicion and private enough to keep away the gawkers. Well paying. No experience required. He would go, Hunakoa decided. He would go, with his guard up and his ambitions bared, and he would at least try to help his family. At least, he could see for himself what this L S y A was all about. 

* * *

No one went to the town square at noon, not usually. It was hot, burning in the dry season and steaming in the wet season. Today was no different. Hunakoa could feel the waves of humid heat rising off the ground as he walked towards the square. He was sweating, even from that short walk, and the soles of his feet burned with each step on an errant rock. 

He wished, vaguely, that this L S y A character chose another time, any other time really, for their little meetup. 

The square was clear of locals when he arrived, and the sun shone bright over the mountain on the thatched houses and hard packed, sandy dirt. In the middle of the square stood three men, and Hunakoa slowed to a halt. 

The stranger from yesterday, the one with the wide brimmed hat and the sharply bright eyes, stood in the square. He was running his hands over a large piece of paper, marked large and clear with the word WANTED. Hunakoa should have known. 

Two more men stood near the stranger. Their hair was dark and shiny, but their skin was light. Not haole light, but lighter than the stranger. Still, they were sun weathered and scarred, from exposed hands to wary faces, and their dark eyes examined everything around them with the intent of a whaler scanning the waves. 

The stranger seemed to be trying to talk to them. Hunakoa couldn’t make out the words, but anything he said, be it a joke, a comment, or a question, seemed to fall on uncaring ears, and the only response it mustered was a curt nod or a barely voiced yes or no. 

Hunakoa approached the group, scuffing his feet loudly through the dirt and setting his shoulders in a way he hoped read as casual, but which probably read as unsure. The stranger turned towards him, and he smiled a smile that caught Hunakoa in his tracks. It was not a smile he expected from that face. The stranger smiled, warm and friendly, like he had nothing to lose from the act. He smiled like Hunakoa was closer than a brother. This was a man, Hunakoa couldn’t help but think, who could hide his heart so well that you might think he still wore it on his sleeve. 

The stranger waved at Hunakoa. “Aloha!” His voice was bright and crowing, with a sandy dry grit around the edges. 

Hunakoa raised a hand in return. “Hey.” He pointed towards the poster held in the strangers hand. “I’m guessing you’re the cattle wrangler?”

The stranger tipped his hat. “That I am. Fresh off the boat and ready to get cracking.”

“Glad to hear I’m in the right place,” Hunakoa said. The stranger spoke, well, strangely. His hawaiian was stilted, accented with a tilt that Hunakoa couldn’t identify. Too musical for English, too consonant heavy for Chinese, and far too clumsy around the subtler vowels for anything from the Pacific. 

The stranger stuck out his hand. “I’m Lance. What do they call you, bud?”

“Hunakoa,” Hunakoa said. He took the stranger’s- Lance’s hand, and shook. It was rough, calloused, and ripcord strong. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, bud.” Lance clapped one hand on Hunakoa’s shoulder, and a look of curious surprise took over his face. “Whoa.” He squeezed Hunakoa’s bicep and whistled. “Damn, you’re quite a hunk, aren’t you.”

Hunakoa shrugged. “That’s what the ladies say.” He didn’t elaborate that by “the ladies,” he meant his sisters. Particularly when they were trying to coerce him into hauling some load or other for them to town and back. 

Lance’s smirk widened. “Ey, good one.” He clapped his hand on Hunakoa’s arm a final time and leaned back. “You know what? I’m going to call you Hunk.”

Hunakoa shrugged. “Sure, have fun.” 

A silence fell, and Lance looked up at the sky. A frown creased his already well worn forehead. He clicked his tongue and said, “Hey, Hunk?” Hunakoa hummed in response and Lance pointed upwards, towards the sun. “Does the sun get higher than that, around here?”

Hunakoa nodded. “Yeah, it does. At this time of year.” He pointed to a spot a bit further overhead, almost directly above them in the sky. “It’ll be a bit higher, around there at dead noon.”

Lance hummed his acknowledgement. “We’ll wait a while longer then.” Lance tipped his hat back down and turned, examining the mountains with an appraising eye. 

Hunakoa looked back over at the other two men. They were conversing low and cutting in a language Hunakoa didn’t recognize or understand. They held themselves like sailors, shoulders hunched forward and feet spread wide, but their eyes darted around with an extra degree of wariness that Hunakoa couldn’t place. An old scar rand across the taller one’s nose, the same purple-brown as an octopus leg dried on the rocks, and the younger one sported a freshly healed slash across his cheek, the same angry red as a fresh sunburn. 

Hunakoa regretted the number of times he’d hand the thought in the past few days, but these were not men to be dealt with lightly. 

The taller of the two men turned towards him, and Hunakoa noticed that the man was missing an arm, checkered shirt sleeve tied off tight just below the elbow. Hunakoa turned away. He chose instead to scan the square, still dusty and still hotter than any reasonable person would endure at noon. 

A young man, approaching from the far side of town, caught Hunakoa’s eye. He was short and slight, and bore a familiar face, dressed in tightly buttoned missionary garb and a pair of round spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose. 

Hunakoa waved, just slightly, at the man. “Pidge,” he called, “Hey.”

Pidge nodded quickly at him. “Hi Hunakoa.”

Hunakoa smiled. He tried to inject some light curiosity into his voice. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in church lately.”

“Fine.” Pidge shrugged. “I was in the back. You wouldn’t have seen me.”

“Oh,” Hunakoa said. “Right.” He glanced towards Lance, but he was still staring up into the mountains. Hunakoa cleared his throat “My sisters miss you, you know,” he said. “They like seeing you around.”

“Hm.” Pidge nodded his acknowledgement. “How are you sisters, by the way? It’s been a while since I caught up with them.”

“They’ve been fine. Oh, right!” Hunakoa snapped his fingers, a proud smile spreading across his face. “They’ve been weaving lauhala for the ali’i.”

Pidge’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, I just delivered one to the big house yesterday. They’re doing great.” Hunakoa tilted his head towards Pidge. “How have the Reverend and Matt been doing. I haven’t seen them around for a while. Did they head to Hilo?”

Pidge’s half smile darkened into a pensive frown, and he turned away. “They’re missing. Still.”

Hunakoa’s heart skipped a beat. “What happened?”

“They left for the South Pacific last year. They were supposed to be back two months ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Has there-”

Pidge shook his head. “There hasn’t. No word from anyone.”

Hunakoa felt his chest run cold, but he smiled as bst as he could manage. “Hey, I’m sure they’re fine,” he said. “It’s only been two months and- They’ll be fine.”

Pidge smiled at him tiredly. “Thanks.” He did not look reassured.

Lance clapped his hands sharply, and Hunakoa snapped to attention. “Well,” Lance said. “It looks like nobody else is coming. Might as well get started.” He smiled again, a cocky, uneven smile like before. He took off his hat to reveal sun streaked, brown hair, and tipped his head. “My name is Louzeida Serrano y Acosta.” He put the hat back on his head. “But you can call me Lance.” Lance smiled, a bit conspiratorially at Hunakoa. Against his better judgement, Hunakoa found himself smiling back. “I’ve been brought over here to deal with the cattle in the mountains. The King himself wanted them deal with, so they’ve got to be tough customers. Anyone seen ‘em?”

Hunakoa winced. One of those bulls came charging down the mountain a while ago, a few weeks after a big storm had torn up the island. It had plowed through his sisters taro patch, and they’d spent half a week fixing the damage. 

Lance smirked again. “I’ll take that as a yes.” he said. “I hear they’re a wild bunch around these parts. Well, here’s the deal. We’re going to be killing those things, and I’m going to teach y’all how to do it. King’s orders.”

He pointed towards the shore, over the masts of western ships. “See those ships? They’re traveling real far, once they leave the shore. They’re going to need food, and we’re going to give it to them. For a good price, at least.”

Lance smiled again, cocky and self assured. He shrugged. “Of course, the cattle are still all owned by the ali’i. We’re just rounding them up. But we’ll be getting a commission on every bull that we sell. And what’s better than doing business under the King’s name?” 

Hunakoa let his gaze drift away from Lance and towards the other men. The two sailors were leaning forwards, eyes intent and nodding along in eerie precision with the air of those who were used to receiving briefings. Pidge seemed a bit off though. He was picking at his sleeve, buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff with frenetic fingers. 

Hunakoa had no idea why Pidge was signing on to this. This uncertain venture to follow a bright eyed stranger to kill the King’s cattle. Pidge’s parents were missionaries, and Pidge was their second son. Someone would have to run the congregation, and some haole’s son or ambitious ali’i always needed a tutor. Pidge was smart. He should be set. There was no reason, at least that Hunakoa could see, that he would even show up to this place. 

A sharp voice broke through Hunakoaʻs thoughts, and he snapped back to attention. “When do we start?” The shorter of the two sailors, the one with the scar down his cheek, snapped in harsh, crude Hawaiian. 

Lance sighed and looked down. He pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers, dragging his thumbnail along a worn groove on the brim. It was a minute until he looked up. “I’m not going to lie, this is a tough job.” He wasn’t smiling any more. “It’ll be hard. Hell, I’ve been doing it for fifteen years, and it still kicks my ass some days.” He looked over them, one by one, and that gaze dug even deeper than a preacher’s stare. 

“Go home,” Lance said. “Think it over. Sleep on it for the night, and if you’re still feeling willing tomorrow morning, meet me back here at dawn.” The smile returned, just a small smirk now, and he tipped his hat. “Bye, y’all. See you on the flip side.”

The sailors turned heel before Lance’s hat was back on his head, and pidge vanished not long after. Hunakoa turned back towards Lance and offered a small smile. “Well, bye Lance. I’ll see you around.”

Lance smiled in return. It was softer this time, soft enough to almost reach his eyes. “So long, bud.” Hunakoa turned to leave. “Hunk?” Lance said. Hunakoa turned back, and Lance’s brow was set in a dark line. “You have sisters, don’t you?”

Hunakoa nodded. “I do, yeah.”

“Do what’s best for them.” Hunakoa could only nod. Lance smiled again and raised a hand. “See you later sometime.”

“I’ll see you too,” Hunakoa said. He began the walk back towards the house, and the decision hung heavy on his mind like a weighted fishnet. 

* * *

A cool dust had fallen over Kailua by the time Hunakoa reached the hale. He could have been back earlier, by mid-afternoon at least. He could have been back in time for an afternoon meal with his sisters, and he could have told them about that stranger in town and his crazy propositions, but he decided to take some time alone. The afternoon was warm and dry, with a Hilo moon overhead. It was the time to pick Hala, and he knew Kahue’s stock was running low. It was the right thing to do.

At least, that was the story he told himself.

The spines of the hala pricked and tore at his shoulders as he walked. The marks would show tomorrow, minuscule nicks and scratches across his arms and hands. It would sting, but he could never bring himself to care. 

He dropped the largest pack of hala outside the door. Inside, the fire was a smoldering coal. His sisters - all seven, from what he could see - were sleeping inside, curled on hala mats and breathing soft and steady in the fading dusk. 

Just beside the fire, Hunakoa saw a small pack of ti leaves. Taro, set aside for him. He set down the second pack of hala gently and fished around for his opihi shell. He sat just inside the door, hands still burning from the hala spines, and pulled a leaf from the pack. He stripped off a line of spines with a smooth tug. 

This job, he thought, this thing with Lance… Lance said it would be hard. Fifteen years, he said, and it was still kicking his ass.

Hunakoa was not a fighter. He was not a cattle wrangler or a harpooner or an explorer’s guide. He was Hunakoa. These arms were made to carry his sisters’ work to town for them, on days when it was too heavy for their back. These legs were made for digging in the taro bed and moving the stones and roots no one else could. 

They would be trained, Lance had said. Trained to hunt cattle. Hunakoa was trained. He was trained to weave, not to fight bulls. 

And even if he could, the job would take him away from his sisters. There had never been a time when they weren’t together, not since they Kaua’i. Not since they ran, chasing a new life out of the preacher’s gaze. He didn’t want to let anything take him away from his sisters. 

But they needed the money. 

The needed money, not an extra hand on rough days. They needed someone to pay the tax, not someone to stand back and let them work on their hala fans. They needed a cattle wrangler, not a wielder of an opihi shell and a digging stick. His sisters needed a fighter, and he would do anything for them. 

Hunakoa’s hand slipped, with a tug on the shell too hard and too fast. His finger caught on the hala spines, sharp and stabbing deep into his skin. He gasped and brought it to his mouth. No spines had broken off, none that he could feel. Good, no need to dig them out. 

One of the girls stirred next to him, her eyes squinting tighter. “Huna?” she said, soft as an ‘elepaio’s chirp. 

“Shh.” He set his hand gently on her shoulder. “It’s nothing, Hina. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmhm.” She rolled over, shifting back on to her hala mat with a sleepy hum. Hunakoa held still, as still as he could, sucking on his still bleeding thumb. Hina’s breathing evened out with time, settling into the syncopated rhythm of the night like a swimmer into the rise and fall of the waves. 

Hunakoa pushed aside the hala - it could be prepared tomorrow - and took a nearby branch to spread out the fire, and the embers cooled to an ash gray in the dying light. He laid back on the mat. The thatched roof was rustling in the breeze, a trade wind that smelled of mountain kiawe and wet earth. Starlight made it through the cracks in the thatch, just barely, and above him hokule’a winked at him from above. 

Someone shuffled across the fire. Pi’ikea, he thought, going off her sleepy sigh. The next morning, Hunakoa would go back to the square and he would join. Anything to keep their home intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic two years ago, and it's finally getting posted! I'm going to be updating every other week on Sunday morning/night. I am totally open to constructive criticism. This is a research project/learning experience as much as anything, and I'm willing to hear anything. Hawaiian history and culture is my pet interest too, so if you have any questions about it please ask, I will probably geek out at you for a good several paragraphs.
> 
> The title of the fic comes from "Between the Rainbows and the Rain" by Chris LeDoux, and the chapter title is from "The Wayfaring Stranger," an American folk song of indeterminate origin.


	2. A Greenhorn Just Escaped from Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk does some braiding, and has a few curious conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter.

Hunakoa awoke before dawn. It was dark, dark as soot, with no moon hanging in the sky. The morning was silent, as mornings were before the sunrise, only broken by the rustle of the wind through their grass thatch and the quiet breaths of his sisters in the steady night air.

Hunakoa stood as quietly as he could manage from his mat and began collecting his things. Water gourd, opihi, burlap sack, and a few rounds of cord. He’d have to leave soon if he wanted to make it to the square by dawn. It was a walk, especially in the dark like this. And after yesterday’s talk, the last thing he wanted to do was arrive late.

Water gourd, where was his water gourd?

A mat rustled beside him, and Hunakoa froze. “Huna?” Pi’ikea said, voice quiet and softened with sleep. “What- It’s still dark out.”

“Sorry,” Hunakoa said. “I have to head out.”

Pi’ikea sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her brow. She turned towards him, and Hunakoa could barely make out her eyes as they examined him in the dark. “Where are you going?”

“I found a job.” Hunakoa looked down, fiddling with the frayed edge of his bag. Pi’ikea only nodded, but even in the dark he could see her shoulders square. “It will pay,” he said, “eventually, at least.”

Pi’ikea looked at him, and her gaze was as heavy as a roof’s broken beam. “Will you be safe?”

“Yeah.” But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He knew Pi’ikea knew too. “I’ll try. It’s a job, Pi’i. I’ve got to try.”

Her voice was tighter when she responded. “I understand.”

Silence fell like a mountain fog, weighted and hanging low in the early morning cool. Hunakoa set his bag down in the unseen doorway. “I really have to go.”

“I know.” Pi’ikea stood with barely a rustle of her hala mat. She stepped careful and light over ‘Akia, curled up beside her in sleep, and plucked a well-worn gourd from beside the fire. She handed it to him. “Here, take it.”

“Thank you,” he said. The wind rustled through the trees, and a hint of yellow shown on the edge of the horizon, like a golden ring around the world of the sleeping.

Pi’ikea placed her hand over his. “We can talk about it tonight.” She jerked her head at the doorway. “Go.” Hunakoa lifted his sack and walked outside. There was a northerly breeze, he could tell. A breeze of pleasant weather and cloudless skies

Pi’ikea walked beside him, stopping only when she reached the canopy of the breadfruit tree. “I’ll see you all tonight,” Hunakoa said. “I promise.” The sky over the sea was warming now, a fade of white into blue into black. He turned towards it and began down the path.

“Hunakoa,” Pi’ikea said. Hunakoa turned to face her. She smiled, soft and fond as a mother he couldn’t quite remember. “Take care.”

* * *

The sun was still half hidden by the mountains when Hunakoa reached the center of town. Lance stood in the square, one elbow propped against a huge animal that Hunakoa could abstractly identify as a horse. The horse, or what he assumed was a horse, had long legs and a dappled coat the color of a stormy sky. He’d seen an etching, long ago in a worn down primer printed somewhere in Honolulu. He remembered that the picture and the text emblazoned above it, proclaiming the thing a LIO, were remarkably unhelpful

Lance caught sight of him then, and a smile flashed across his face. He waved. “Hunk, buddy,” he called, “Come on over.”

Hunk did, approaching Lance and that huge damn horse. He’d seen the herds of wild horses in the mountains, or at least he’d seen their dust trails. They were skittish and elusive as an ‘i’iwi in feather hunting season, but everyone had heard the stories.

Hunk stopped just out of the horses biting range, or at least he hoped he did. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning to you too.” Lance swept his hat off his head and rubbed at his brow. He wasn’t wearing that blue cloak anymore, just a buttoned up shirt that may have at one point been white. “It’s good to see you back,” Lance said. “Almost thought I’d scared y’all off.”

Hunk nodded, only half paying attention. His eyes were still fixed on the horse. It might have been staring at him, but he couldn’t tell. Abruptly, it snorted, and Hunk started backwards half a step.

Lance grabbed hold of the horse’s reins and pulled down, tugging it’s head down to level again. He smirked at hunk. “You’re a bit jumpy there, ain’t ya.”

Hunk scooted back in, cheeks growing hot. “It’s a lot bigger in person. A lot more...” Hunk searched for a word and came up empty. “Big.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “You ever been near a horse before?”

“Not this close.” The horse flicked its ear and turned towards him, eyes huge and brown.

Lance patted its nose with a smile. “This is Azul,” he said. “Don’t worry, she’s a good girl, once you get to know her.” Azul nosed into Lance’s hand with a snuffle, and he smiled. It was a nice smile, Hunk noticed. Soft and fond and just a little bit crooked. It was a really nice smile.

Lance turned that smile on Hunk. “You can pet her, if you want,” he said.

Hunk held his hands up, staunchly resisting the urge to back up a step. “No,” he said, “no, I don’t think-”

“Come on,” Lance said. “Don’t be a chicken. Just pat her neck; she won’t bite.” Hunk shot an incredulous look at the behemoth in front of him. Doesn’t bite, his ass.

Lance rolled his eyes, smile just a little bit snarky on the left edge. “I promise.”

It was a really hard smile to say no to. Tentatively, Hunk reached out and stroked the horse’s neck. It was stiff and smooth under his hand, somewhere between the wirey bristle of a boar’s haunches and the silky fluff of a dog’s ear. “Huh,” Hunk said. “Akula, right?”

“No, not Akula,” Lance said. “Azul.”

Hunk pursed his lips and tried again. The syllables felt strange in his mouth, like an oversized ‘opihi. Foriegn words always did that, and for some reason they always made him far too aware of his tongue. “Asula?”

“No, no Ah sound at the end. Say it with me, Azul.”

“Azul.” It sounded rough, even to Hunk’s ears, but Lance smiled again.

“There you go,” Lance said. “You’ve got it.” Azul shook her head with a snorting sound, and Hunk laughed. He caught Lance’s gaze, light with amusement and satisfaction and something Hunk couldn’t quite place. Hunk looked away.

The sun was a bit higher now, with only a sliver left below the horizon. Hunk wondered if anyone else would show up. It was almost past dawn. Finally, Lance spoke again. “Hey, be honest. I bet my Hawaiian isn’t very polished, is it?”

Hunk smiled with a suck of his teeth. “It kind of is, yeah.”

“Great,” Lance said. “It’s not just me.”

“Yeah, you sound like you’re not from here.” Hunk bit his lip. “I think it’s your hopuna. Yeah, your hopuna is off.”

Lance turned towards him with a curious look. “My what?”

“You know, your...” Hunk snapped his fingers in the air. “What is the word? The way you say things- Oh, your puana, your pronunciation. That’s what’s off.”

Lance nodded. “That’s fair. They gave me this book, back on the boat. I was supposed to learn everything from it; it was hard.” Lance gestured with a pointed finger. “You know what’s a pain? I know how to say things from the book, right? Sentences and words and all that, but they skip the basics.”

“That’s a common problem, from what I’ve heard around town.” It really was. Sailors and naturalists would come off the boats speaking like a missionary at sermon, proper and polite and with no understanding of intricacy.

“Thank you!” Lance said. “I’m halfway sure we all learned from the same book. You know what it is? I know how to speak Hawaiian like the book does, so I just don’t know how to talk normal. Everything is so formal in there, like-” he huffed. “Like I don’t know how to just say ‘hola’ to somebody, you know. Just casual like. ‘Aloha’ feels weird to say all the time.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling a sheepish kind of smile. “You know what I mean?”

Hunk tilted his head. It was normal to him, to shout ‘aloha’ across the square and to his friends from childhood, but he could see how it would be strange to the malihini.

They probably weren’t used to that kind of freeness with the word ‘love.’ “You could say ano’ai,” he said. “Or welina. Those are both pretty common.”

“Anoy,” Lance said, mouth opening far too wide and voice too sharp for the word. “Welia.”

Hunk winced. “Not quite, try again.” He voiced the words again, emphasizing the syllables as precisely as he could. “Welina. Ano’ai. You missed the break in the middle.”

Lance tried again. “Ano’ai, welina.”

Hunk broke into a smile. “Maika’i, you got it!”

Lance smiled. “All thanks to my tutor. Welina, Hunk.”

Hunk nodded in return. “Welina.”

Lance’s smile melted into a curious curl of the lips and he tilted his head. He looked across the square, lighter now with the sun cresting the mountain. “Hey Hunk,” he said, “Does that look like the guys from yesterday? The scary ones with the scars.”

He pointed to the opposite end of the square and Hunk followed his gaze. A pale face was visible from around the edge of a nearby building, studying them with a slightly suspicious eye. Hunk waved at them, and the shorter one turned away.

He nudged the taller one and said something Hunk couldn’t hear. The taller nodded in response and the two of them walked into the square. They looked far less apprehensive of the horse than Hunk did, and that fact did not at all take a chip off of Hunk’s pride.

Lance nodded at them. “Well, that’s most of us,” he said. “Hey hunk, you knew the small one, right? You think he’ll be coming back?”

“Yeah, Pidge Gunderson.” Hunk shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Gunderson?” Lance frowned. “Same as the missionaries ‘round here?”

“The same. Pidge is the Reverend’s son.”

Lance whistled. “Damn, what’s he doing with us?” Hunk wished he could answer that question.

There was a shuffling sound from behind them, just the faintest scuff of shoes against dirt. Hunk turned to look and Pidge was there, leaning against a building behind them. He was half out of sight, and his shoulders were hunched and hands shoved deep into his pockets. Pidge glanced towards them, and Hunk caught his eye. His eyes were wide, and even from this distance, Hunk could see a hint of fear.

Lance followed Hunk’s gaze, then turned on his heel. He waved towards Pidge. “Welina,” he shouted. “Come on over, we won’t bite.” Pidge pushed himself off the wall and approached. His shoulders were still hunched, and his eyes darted from Lance to Hunk to the ground again. Pidge stopped next to Hunk, and Hunk could practically feel the tension in his stance.

Hunk bumped Pidge lightly with his shoulder, and Pidge looked up. “Hey,” Hunk said, jerking his head in a cursory greeting.

“Hey,” Pidge said, then returned to examining his shoes. Well, that was reassuring.

Lance pushed himself straight from Azul’s side and clapped his hands. “Well, that’s everyone. For real, this time.” He flashed a cocky smile at them, looking over each in turn. “Glad all you boys came back.”

Hunk glanced towards the two sailors, hoping beyond reasonable hope that they wouldn’t notice his interest. The taller of the two stood ramrod straight, upright and ready to jump to follow orders. The shorter slouched at his side - the side where the man’s right arm wasn’t - and he scanned over the group. His eyes saccaded over over each of them in turn, glaring with the air of a cornered dog ready to bite.

Lance clapped his hands. “So, y’all are going to come with me down to the docks. We’ve got to pick up some supplies, and them we can really get started.” He clapped hunk on the shoulder and rounded Azul’s side. He wedge his foot into a leather loop and hopped up onto the horse’s back, as smoothly as if he were jumping a fence. He turned Azul around and jerked his head towards the docks. “Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”

Lance set off with a click of his tongue, and Hunk followed after. He turned back towards them, half shouting over his shoulder. “The first thing we’ve got to do is get y’all some horses. You want to catch cattle, you need horses to do it. Azul is a good horse, but there’s only one of her.” Lance patted Azul’s neck with the barest hint of a smile. “Y’all’ve gotta catch your own.”

He pulled back on Azul’s reins and she slowed to walk next to the four on foot. “Word has it there are some wild mustangs in those mountains,” Lance said. “Anyone seen ‘em?” he turned toward them and smiled with an expectant tick of his eyebrows.

Hunk raised his hand. “I have,” he said.

Lance’s gaze snapped to hunk, and Hunk’s words got stopped in their tracks by those piercing eyes. “You have, huh? Know anything ‘bout ‘em?”

Hunk felt his face heat and looked away, staring resolutely at the road rising ahead of his feet. “Not really, they were kind of far away.”

The taller of the two sailors spoke from behind Hunk, his voice clear and steady as an ocean swell. “I heard they’re wild.” The shorter sailor chuffed and a dark half-smile wove across his face.

“That’s what I heard too,” Lance said. “I hear they’re scrappy things. Hard hooves, sharp backs, and they’ll buck like demons. If you can catch ‘em.”

Hunk didn’t like the sound of that description, and the nervous flutter of his heart was making itself known. He glanced towards Pidge, anything to have something else to focus on. Pidge looked shifty, like he would like for all the world to vanish into the dirt before anyone could notice. Hunk hoped, beyond reasonable hope, that his own fear didn’t show as plainly.

Lance nodded. “Yeah, they’re.” Lance shot them a cocky smile. “But I’ve dealt with worse.” He spurred Azul ahead of them again. “Come on, cattle wrangling’s got no place for slowpokes.”

The dirt path turned to grass in front of them, and Hunk had to wonder if Lance knew where he was going. In all likelihood, not quite. The best way to the ports was down along the road. It was flat and clear, with no brush to step over or trees to dodge. Lance looked like he didn’t care. He was riding high above them and whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Oh right, he didn’t have to walk through it.

The brush thinned, enough that Hunk could look up from the ground again. Lance whistled. “Hey, big guy.” Hunk looked up, and Lance laughed, bright and ringing as brass bells. “Not you, the other big guy.” He cocked his head at the taller sailor, the one with broad shoulders and a jaw as square as an adze head. If the other one was a wild dog, this one was a shark.

The shark looked up, his chin jutted out and head held high and proud. Lance nodded at the tied off sleeve on his right arm. “What happened to that. There’s got to be a story there, ain’t it.” The shark stiffened, and Lance shrugged his hands up in surrender. “Hey man, just trying to make conversation.”

The shark seemed to relax. His jaw loosened, thank God, and his shoulders fell back into a natural, but still squared off, posture. He shrugged one shoulder with a false kind of levity, eyes still fixed sharp on Lance. “I lost it in Ilo,” he said, “a few years back.”

Pidge made a curious noise from behind Hunk. “Do you mean Hilo? That’s near here.”

The shark smirked, an expression just barely perceptible around his eyes. “No, not Hilo, Hawai’i. Ilo, as in Ilo, Peru.”

Lance whistled, and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Peru, huh? That’s a good long trip from here, ain’t it.”

The shark cocked his head. “That’s one way to say it. A bad long trip may be more accurate.”

“Fair enough,” Lance said. “What happened down in Ilo?”

The shark shrugged again. “I had a disagreement with a whale.”

“You don’t say,” Lance said, “What kinda disagreement?”

That smirk in the shark’s eyes hadn’t gone away. “Well, we disagreed over positioning,” he said. “I wanted my arm to remain attached to my body, and the whale begged to differ.” The shorter one rolled his eyes, but his lips curled up in an almost hidden snicker, black eyes flashing bright an amused.

Lance made no such efforts to hide. He threw back his head and laughed. “I like you,” he said. “What’s your name, big guy?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” the man said. “Call me Shiro.”

Shiro elbowed the shorter one at his side, and the short one rolled his eyes. “Call me Keith,” he said, and his Hawaiian was just as harsh and clipped as before.

Lance nodded, eyebrows raised. “Keith, huh. That’s your real name?”

“No,” the man - Keith? - said. He turned back to the road ahead of them.

Lance shrugged. “Whatever you say, Keith.” He turned back towards Hunk, smiling wide. “Well, I already know what to call you, and you-” he glanced towards Pidge, “You’re Pidge, right? Pidge Gunderson.”

“Yes,” Pidge said. “That’s right. Just call me Pidge.”

Lance flashed them all another one of those cocky, winning smiles. “Well, now we all know each other. Shiro, Keith, Pidge, and Hunk.” He stood up high in the stirrups, peering over the crest of the hill. “We’re almost there. That took a right bit shorter than I expected.”

Just as Lance said, the port opened up before them over the crest of the hill. As a drunk dock worker had once informed Hunk, to call it a port was a massive generosity. It was closer to a conveniently shaped bay than anything, with a single wooden embankment jutting out into the deeper parts of the sea. A ship could dock there, in theory, but anything bigger than an average-sized trading schooner was more than a little wary of the trip. Of course, they’d make the trip anyway, they just didn’t like it. A few men milled about the port. Dockworkers, whalers, and vagabonds, mostly, though Hunk could only tell the difference thanks to years of practice. It was in the walk, he was told, the amount of swagger relative to the degree of drunkenness.

As they reached the edge of the scrub, Lance dismounted. He threw the reins at Shiro. “Hold onto her until I get back, would ya?” Lance disappeared into the crowd, making a beeline towards a Spanish looking ship with an ornate figurehead shaped like a pouncing lion.

The short sailor- Keith clustered towards Shiro. They began to talk quietly in that same foriegn language. Hunk had no idea what it could be in the square, and he had even less of an idea now. If they came as far away as Peru, his guess was as good as anyone.

The docks were busy for this time of year. They’d been getting busier every season, to be honest, but this year was showing a particularly large bump. Hunk chose to ignore the fight brewing on the gangplank of a whaling ship, some twenty paces away - not his problem, after all - and turned back towards Pidge instead.

Pidge was fussing with his shirt cuffs again, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nesting tern. Hunk shuffled towards him, and Pidge nodded a greeting.

“Hey,” Hunk said. He pointed towards Lance, still conversing on the deck of a ship. “That was a hell of a speech he gave yesterday”

Pidge snorted. “It sure was. I bet he was trying to scare us off.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Hunk said. He jerked his thumb at Keith and Shiro, still talking about God knew what in their own personal world. “I think even those two were getting a bit green around the gills.”

Pidge turned to give the pair a once over, then nodded sagely. “Good. At least they’re capable of feeling fear like the rest of us.” Pidg shook his head. “Man, that guy is scary.”

“Who, Lance?” Hunk laughed.

Pidge tsked, one eyebrow cocked at Hunk. “Yeah, who else?” he said. “Tall, strapping guy from California who wrestles bulls for a living. Why wouldn’t he be a bit intimidating?”

“Well, when you say it like that...” Hunk let the sentence trail off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t think he was that scary.”

Pidge just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s because you’re even bigger than him, Hunk.” Pidge punched him in the arm. It was the same kind of teasing hit Pidge had pioneered when they were kids, stuck together in the church pews and trying not to laugh during sermon.

Hunk elbowed Pidge back. “Hey, we’ll be a couple of those scary, strapping guys soon. We’re going to be wrestling bulls with the best of them.” A thought struck Hunk and he groaned. “My sisters are going to be so mad when they find out about this.”

Pidge’s eyes widened and he laughed a high pitched, incredulous laugh. “You haven’t told them?”

Hunk cringed and tried for a smile. “They were asleep when I got back yesterday. I just haven’t had time yet.”

“Pi’ikea is going to kill you.”

“I know.” Hunk groaned. “How’d your family take it? They’re not going to be any happier than Pi’i about this.”

And just like that, Pidge shrunk. All that openness, all the laugher and teasing and shine in his eyes from half a moment ago was gone, vanished like a wisp of mist hitting a fire. His voice was stiff and formal again when he responded. “They took it alright.”

Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong, and Hunk had no clue what to do about it. His hand twitched out and back in again. He was torn between reaching out for Pidge, trying for some friendly advice and comfort, and waving it off, shrugging aside the moment and carrying on. He didn’t know what Pidge wanted. And he didn’t know what he had the right to give.

Thankfully - and Hunk never thought he’d ever be thankful for the sound of sailors cursing someone out - there was a commotion from the docks. Hunk snapped to find the source, and he saw lance, still on one of the ships. He was shouting in some language that Hunk still couldn’t place, gesticulating wildly and shaking a piece of paper. The man he was shouting at just shrugged, and lance threw up his hands with a huff. He stomped back towards them, carrying a few coils of thick rope and looking for all the world like he wanted to strangle someone with it.

Lance clapped his hands, and Keith and Shiro snapped to attention. Lance took a deep breath, then smiled. “Change of plans, y’all.” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll tell you on the way.” He pointed towards a pile of leather- boxes? Stools? Things? Hunk had no idea what they were - stacked near the gangplank of the ship. “Everyone grab a saddle and follow me.” Shiro handed him the reins without a word, and Lance took them with a sigh. “At least someone has a brain. Thank you, Shiro. I needed that.”

* * *

Lance lead them back through the brush on a half formed path winding towards the mountains. They hit an incline, and Hunkʻs thighs started to burn. Wherever Lance was taking them, he better do it fast.

“Well, there was kinda a mix up with the supplies.” Lance smiled back towards them, sharp and sarcastic. “Y’all were supposed to get lassoes along with those saddles you’ve got, like this.” He shook a braided loop of leather at his side, and a metal fixing somewhere in the mass jingled brightly. “But the dock workers in California, who don’t know a bull’s withers from its hock and have never rode a horse in their lives, by the way, thought this-” he shook a coil of rope, the kind thick, coarse stuff they use to tie boats to the shore, “would work just fine.”

Lance sighed heavily. “So we’re going to use this as an opportunity. Y’all's first task is going to be learning how to make your own lassoes. They gave us cow skins to work with, at least, so y’all aren’t all the way at square one.”

He pulled Azul to a stop in a small clearing. It looked towards the mountains, bright and green in the morning light. There was a small pen, roughly hewn from tree branches and lashed together with thick mariners rope. A small collection of barrels and miscellaneous sundry were piled nearby, though they were less stacked than they were thrown in a way that stuck.

Lance dismounted and jerked his head towards an empty patch of grass. “Drop your saddles over there and help me unload these skins.” Hunk hurried to follow directions, tossing the role of skins to the ground with a huff.

Lance slapped Hunk’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.” He fished out one from the bundle and threw it out on the ground. He knelt down next to it. “Alright, the first thing you’re going to do it cut this into a spiral.” He traced a path outwards from the center with his fingernail, leaving a slight groove in the skin. “The strip should be about three or four fingers wide. Don’t go much thinner than that, or it’ll snap like a knife.” He reached for his side, then frowned. He patted his pockets and swore. “Anyone got a knife? A sharp one, like a razor.”

“Here,” Keith grunted. He produced a blade from somewhere on his person, shiny and black and barely the length of his pinky. It looked like mākā, and even across the circle Hunk could tell it was ripping sharp.

Lance took the knife and whistled. “Nice” He set about cutting through the hide, spinning the knife around in sure circles. “Alright, next you cut this into four strips. It’s alright if they’re uneven in a few places.” He shook the hide, knocking off a few scraps of cut leather. “That’s what these are for.” He cut the strips and tossed the knife back to Keith. “Get started on that hide.”

He walked them through the braiding of the lasso. It was a variation of a four strand round braid, as far as Hunk could tell so far. It was simpler than his sisters work and far more manageable. Hunk could manage.

“Got it?” Lance said. “Great.” He threw the half-started lasso at Keith. “Everyone get going.”

So Hunk did. He cut the hide thrown towards him slowly, following that same spiral pattern Lance had traced. It was hard to keep his hand steady on the uneven ground, but Keith’s knife was sharp enough for the job.

Lance ambled around the circle. He leaned over Hunk’s shoulder - and his breath was hot against Hunk’s ear - and pointed to a spot on the hide. “You’re cutting too thin, right here.” He traced around the circle with his finger. “Keep the spiral wide in the center. You can always cut it down later.”  
Cutting the sprial into strops was easier than it looked. Hunk passed the knife on to Pidge, and contemplated the start of the brain. He caught the end of the strand between his toes and began to work. It was what he had been taught, after all. Lance’s eyebrows ticked up. “Are you always barefoot?” he said.

Hunk shrugged. “Pretty much.” There was no need, and shoes always sounded as comfortable as a cuff to the ear.

“Huh.” Lance shrugged. “If it works, I guess.” He raised his voice. “Everyone got it figured out?” Hunk nodded, along with the rest of the circle, and Lance clapped his hands. “Great. Hey, Keith.”

Keith looked up from the braid. “What?”

“Come with me, you're up first,” Lance said, a wicked grin playing across his lips. “Time to catch you a bronco.”

Keith turned towards shiro with a questioning look, and Shiro said something back to him in their language. Understanding spread over Keith’s face, and he stood up. “Fine. Coming.”

“Great,” Lance said. “Y’all keep working ‘til we get back.” He clapped Keith on the shoulder and dragged him away from camp. Hunk couldn’t tell what they were saying, but Lance was talking low and fast, and Keith looked definitively less than pleased. Braiding wasn’t the worst option Hunk saw around here.

Lance mounted up and they disappeared over the ridge, Lance riding and Keith walking towards the mountains. Hunk sighed. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Pidge sat hunched over his braid nearby. He worked slowly and with a fair amount of mumbling, twisting the braids together with his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

Hunk scooted closer. “So,” he said, “How’s the cattle wrangler life going?”

Pidge deadpanned. “It’s a non stop adventure.” He shrugged. “Seems fine so far.”

Hunk hummed in agreement. At least for now, braiding was far further into his wheelhouse than anything they would do next. “Still think Lance is scary?”

“Honestly, yeah. He’s less intimidating now, though. I mean, he can’t be that bad if he-” Pidge stopped and stared at his braiding. He swore and began unravelling his lasso. Hunk returned to his braiding as well. It was a simple pattern, once it was divorced from the alien feel of the leather, and Hunk found himself falling easily into the rhythm.

The braid grew to the length of a hand, and then a forearm. Hunk set it down and rolled his neck. A few paces away, Shiro worked quietly on his own braid. It looked like he was having a tough time. The end of the braid, rough and uneven at the base, was pinned under his boot, and he held a strand tight between his teeth. It must have been hard, trying to braid with only one hand.

Hunk wavered, then stood up, plucking his braid from the ground as he went. Pidge didn’t seem to notice Hunk leaving; he just kept braiding. Hunk walked to Shiro’s side. He nodded at shiro and sat down next to him, rearranging his braid on the ground to work.

Shiro had one strand in his mouth, that was accurate, but he was doing more than that to try and organize that mess. Two more were held in his right hand, wedged independently between straining fingers, and one was pinned in the crook of his knee. It did not seem to be working.

Hunk tucked one hand behind his back and transferred his work to the other hand. If he held one strand in his teeth, he might be able to- but no, that would leave the third unsecured, and it would slip out. But if one was tucked under his armpit, it might- no, that strand slipped before he could even transfer the first two to the left.

“Wow,” Hunk said, trying to pitch his voice towards Shiro. “This is really hard. You’ve got it tough.”

Shiro did not respond, except for a short grunt Hunk took to mean ‘yes.’ In hindsight, Hunk should have expected that, given Shiro was still holding a leather strap between his teeth.

Hunk untucked his arm from behind his back and returned the braid to both hands. He began unwinding the uneven section he had created. The end of Shiro’s braid slipped out from his boot, and Shior cursed. He spit the leather strap of the braid out of his mouth. He looked over towards Hunk with a scrutinizing look, then jerked his chin at Hunk’s feet. “That,” he said. “Does it work?”

Hunk looked down at the braid pinched between his toes. He shrugged. “Yeah. If it works for making fishing line, I don’t see why it wouldn't work here.”

Shiro nodded. “Good to know.” He toed off a shoe and wedged the braid between his toes. Hunk returned his focus to his own braid, but judging by the decrease in curing beside him, things seemed to have been going better. It seemed like Shiro had found a rhythm.

“I’m Hunk, by the way,” Hunk said. “At least, that’s what people are calling me now.”

Shiro smiled slightly. “Shiro. Are you from around here? You look local.”

“Yeah, I live in Kailua, down the hill,” Hunk said. “Where are you from? I don’t think I’ve seen you around town.”

“Japan, originally,” Shiro said. “But we’ve been elsewhere.”

“Huh, I thought you looked like a sailor,” Hunk said. “You and your friend, I mean. Have you traveled much?”

“He’s my brother, actually. But yes, we have.” Shiro looked to be doing a tally in his head. “We were shiphands in the East Indies, whalers around the Peruvian coast. We spent some time in the South Pacific too, for a while.”

Hunk whistled. “Whoa, I haven’t even left the islands. You should tell me about it some time. You’ve got to have some good stories.”

“Maybe I will.” Shiro set down his work - a good hand’s breadth longer than it was before - and picked up a dented metal canteen as his side. It was a round style, one Hunk though he’d seen before, carried by American soldiers with shining pistols and sharp eyes. Shiro examined its contents, then gestured towards the South. “I think I saw a stream that way. I’m going to get more water. Would you like me to fill that too?” He pointed toward Hunk’s gourd with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh,” Hunk said. He hadn’t expected an offer any more than he expected rain on a sunny day. “Sure.” He handed Shiro his gourd and Shiro disappeared into the brush. Hunk pulled himself to his feet again and sat down next to Pidge. He nudged Pidge in the side. “Howʻs it going?”

“Pretty good, I think.” Pidge displayed his braided lariat, now nearly the length of his arm. “How was it talking to the other scary guy?”

“He seems normal, actually,” Hunk said. “The other guy, the short scary one, he’s Shiro’s brother, and they’re from Japan.”

Pidge whistled. “They came far. I wonder what got them to the islands. Hell, I wonder why they signed up for this.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Hunk started braiding again. It was nice to have something to do with his hands again. “You know, I didn’t really expect you to come back.”

Pidge frowned. “What do you mean?”

Hunk gestured at the clearing, scattered with ranching paraphernalia and not much else. “You know, this. My sisters probably don’t want me to leave. Pi’i thinks I’m risking my skin, and honestly I can’t blame her. I just can’t imagine that the Gundersons would let you go either. Did you tell them?”

Pidge shrugged, though a line of tension had worked its way into his shoulders like a bamboo splint. “I told. They didn’t mind much.”

That felt wrong. Hunk knew the Gundersons, and they were caring people. They wouldn’t just let Pidge go. Even if they weren’t, missionaries are tight knit. They don’t just let their kind leave the pack unprovoked. “Really? That doesn’t sound like them.”

“Well it is.” The was an edge in Pidge’s voice. It was hard and wavering as a still sea at dusk, and his fingers stuttered against the braid. “I wasn’t being the son they needed.”

Hunk was struck dumb. Pidge was their only son now, the only man of the Gunderson family, with Matt and the Reverend gone in the South Pacific. Hunk shook his head, because what on Earth could…

But Shiro was there now. He appeared at Hunk’s side and handed back his gourd. Pidge’s eyes cleared of their darkness and his gaze snapped up with a smile. “Thanks, Shiro,” He said. The note in his voice was gone now, and Pidge just kept braiding.

* * *

It was nearly dusk when Lance and Keith returned. Of course Shiro was the first to notice them. “Hey,” he said, “look.” Shiro pointed towards the hill, illuminated red now in the fading light. Lance rode high on Azul, grinning wide and gleeful, Keith limped slightly alongside, glaring at the world around him like it had just tripped him into a lava flow, and behind the both of them was a horse.

The horse was tied, Hunk noted with relief, by a sturdy leather rope around its neck, tied off to Lance’s saddle. It was a stallion, by the looks of it, with a coat the dark reddish brown of the red dirt valleys of Kaua’i after a rain.

Pidge sat up from his work. “Now that’s a horse,” he said.

The horse snorted loud and kicked, its eyes blown wide. Keith had to scamper out of range, but lance seemed unphased. He dragged the horse through the gates of the pen and shouted back towards Keith. “Pass the rope.”

Keith complied, throwing a length of mariners rope soundly into Lance’s waiting hand, but Hunk was torn. He started to stand, trying to decide in a moment whether to try and help or whether to stay as far as he could out of the way.

Lance tied the horse to the fence, deft as anything, and slipped his lasso off from around the horses neck. He hopped over the fence with ease and leaned back against it. Keith barked something Hunk couldn’t understand, but he could deduce it was nothing polite.

Neither of the two looked like they fared well. They were scuffed and dirty. Keith was bleeding from at least three places, and Lance sported an impressive bruise on his cheek, the same color as the rapidly vanishing sunset. Lance waved in their direction, and Hunk found himself drifting towards them. Shiro had no such indecision. He strode over to Keiths side and began speaking low and fast in that language. Japanese, it must be Japanese.

Lance shot Hunk a smile, one of the friendly ones Hunk had come to appreciate. He spoke towards Keith, taking his hat off to wipe at his brow. “That one was a nasty bucker, huh?” Lance groaned. “I’m beat”

Keith looked at Lance sceptically, like he was still waiting for the punchline. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you going to name it?” Lance asked.

Keith hummed at that. He looked upwards in thought. “Pukoko,” he said, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “It’s Pukoko now.”

Shiro huffed and crossed his arms. “Keith, you can’t just name your horse ‘bloody.’”

Keith looked at Shiro with wide eyes, and Hunk had enough sisters to recognize mock innocence when he saw it. “Why?” He wiped at his cheek, smearing one of the many scratches that littered his person. “Bloody.”

Shiro started to sputter, but Lance just laughed, hard and full chested. “Pukoko it is, then.” He nodded towards Pidge and Hunk, still hovering somewhere between their seats and the pen. “How’ve y’all been doing?”

“Good,” Hunk said. “We made progress.”

“Good to hear,” Lance said. He pointed towards the lassos, left abandoned a few strides away. “Let me take a look.”

Hunk sat back near his, disentangling the trailing strands from each other. Lance strode past him towards where Shiro was sitting. He picked up the braid, only about two hand lengths done and roughly twisted at the edges. “Is this the big guy’s?” Lance asked. Hunk nodded, and Lance shrugged, then set it down again. “Hey PIdge, how’s it been going?”

Pidge handed Lance the lasso without a word. Lance looked it over, then handed it back. “Looks good. Just make sure to keep tension even.” Pidge nodded as he took it back, and then returned to work.

Hunk leaned back as Lance crouched next to him. He held out a hand with a tilt of his head, and Hunk handed over the lasso without thinking. “It was easy,” he said.

“Unless I did something wrong, then I guess it wasn’t easy, but-”

He was cut off by an impressed sounding “huh” from Lance. Lance turned it over, eyebrows steadily climbing towards his forehead, and he nodded. “Not bad, Hunk, not bad. Almost looks like I did it myself.” Lance smiled as he handed it back, and Hunk felt his face heat. Complements. He never took complements well. At least he could be glad that the blush wouldn’t show.

There was a shout from the pen, and it was definitely swearing this time, in Keith’s patented hoarse growl. Lance bolted towards the pen to deal with whatever unpleasantness was ensuing before them. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Hunk’s problem.

Hunk stood and began to search around for his things. The sun was getting low over the ocean, and it was getting late. His sisters would be going to bed, about now. He didn’t want to miss that again. Hunk tied off the strands of his bag and returned to the lasso.

The shouting subsided a few moments later. Lance clapped Hunk on the shoulder as he knelt down next to him in the grass. “Hey buddy, you’re the local expert, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that-” Hunk tried, but Lance waved him off.

“Course you are. You think it’s gonna rain tonight?”

Hunk examined the horizon, still a burning red in the dusk, and shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s been a dry week. ”

Lance nodded. “Thanks bud.” He stood again and clapped, raising his voice to be heard as far as the pen. “Alright everyone. Put the saddles and lassos on that fence. Go home, I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning.”

Hunk did as he was told, then returned to his pack to hitch it up over his shoulder again. He stopped, then threw a smile back towards Lance. “Bye,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lance threw a salute back at him and smirked. “Right back at ya, bud.”

* * *

Hunakoa used to like walking home after dark. It was a rare treat, it always had been. The kind of the he would do in his adolescence, just to find some time alone. The darkness felt like a cloak, back them. A shield and a comfort. Secrets were safe in the dark.

This dark, though, just felt like the dark.

Twilight had fallen by the time Hunakoa reached home, but even from the base of the hill, he could tell that a fire was still burning inside. The smell of cooking fish wafted down the hill in an evening breeze, salty and warm and filling up Hunakoa’s chest like a prayer. He ducked inside the doorway, and his sisters were there, circled around a still burning fire. All of them were there, and all of them were awake.

Hunakoa felt his chest swell with dread. He sat down in the only open space left around the fire. ‘Akia latched herself to his side with the strength of an opihi. “Where were you?” she said. “I didn’t see you all day today, like at all.”

“Well, I-” Hunakoa stammered, but ‘Akia only gripped tighter. “Kiddo, I need to breathe.”

Pi’ikea nudged ‘Akia aside, stoically ignoring her whines. “Let him breathe, ‘Akia. He needs to eat first.” She handed Hunakoa a laulau, wrapped in taro leaves and smelling like fresh fish. “We saved you some.”

“Thank you.” Hunakoa tore open the package and began to eat. Even as he did, he could feel their eyes on him, hot and pressing in the dim light of the fire. The silence was its own being, and it was crushing him from above.

Hunakoa cleared his throat. “Good news,” he said. “I found a job in town.”

“Good,” Pi’ikea said, glancing around the circle with a warning eye. “That sounds great, Huna.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “It- It’s going to keep me away for awhile. For the day, at least. Sorry.”

Pi’ikea nodded, mouth set into a resolute line. “We’ll manage.”

Kahue frowned, and she shifted forwards in the circle. “What’s the job?” she asked.

Hunakoa put down the laulau. He wiped sweaty hands off on his lap and braced himself. “Cattle wrangling, up in the mountains.”

A clamor of voices broke out like a crashing wave.

“What?”

“Cattle, why are you-”

“Seriously, what?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“And how?”

“But the Kapu-”

Hunakoa saw Pi’ikea’s mouth tighten to a thin, pale slash, eyes fixed tight and stern on Hunakoa. He knew that face, and he knew far too well that it was one to avoid. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said. He held his hands up in surrender, pleading to whoever’s god might be listening that she wouldn’t tear him in two. “There’s this malihini, Louzeida. The chief’s brought him in, he’s going to teach us how to do it. It’s just me and a few other men from town.” He laughed, but even to his ears it sounded forced. “We haven’t even got near a bull yet. We’re braiding rope.”

Kahue frowned harder. “It sounds like you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Pi’ikea’s voice was stern and measured. Hunakoa may not be a child any more, but that voice always reminded him that Pi’ikea definitely was not. “Who are these men, Huna?”

Hunakoa felt the urge to apologize, though he wasn’t sure what for. “Uh, Pidge Gunderson. You know, the missionary kid?”

Na’au’ao, silent until that point, perked up. “Pidge is there?”

“Yeah, he is.” Hunahoa shrugged, and he hoped it read as nonchalant.

Kahue tilted her head, and the tightness in her jaw faded with the wariness in her eyes. “It can’t be that risky if Pidge is involved.”

Pi’ikea nodded. “Pidge is a responsible boy. You can trust him.” Hunakoa heard Na’au’ao snort at that comment, and she tried to disguise it as a cough.

Maile piped in, somewhere from the back of the circle. ”Ooh, have you seen the Gundersons lately? They’ve been building a new church.”

Hina turned towards Maile with a steadily widening grin. “I saw it today,” she said. “I think they’re almost done with the foundation, right?”

Kahue rolled her eyes with a sneer tugging up at the corner of her lips. “I guess the haoles really are here to stay.” Maile turned sharply towards Kahue, eyes alight with argument, and Hunakoa returned to his food. It was a familiar argument, whether the missionaries were good or not. Rehearsed. It was the kind of conversation that was worn like the pebbles on the beach, utterly predictable in form and perfect for throwing far, far away from yourself.

There was a tug on Hunakoa’s arm, though. ‘Akia, still curled up at his side, looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, and she bit her lip in a valiant show of resolve. He fiddled with the hem of her skirt, and her voice was quiet when she spoke. “Huna, are you gonna be alright? I wanna keep you around, you know.”

A fishhook caught Hunakoa’s heartstrings and tugged. That was unfair. It was unfair that she could tie him up in knots so quickly, and it was unfair that he couldn’t make her worry stop. He cooed, like he did when she was a baby, just barely ready for the crossing from Kaua’i. “Oh Aki, don’t worry.” He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighed, burying her face further into his side. “Good,” she said, voice muffled in Hunakoa’s mass. “I still need you to carry my stuff.”

“Hey!” Hunakoa threw his hand to his chest in mock offense. “What am I, a poi dog?” ‘Akia only laughed, and she shoved herself even further into Hunakoa’s side to muffle her giggles. Hunakoa poked at her side, and she screeched as she wiggled away. Hunakoa was not going anywhere. Not tonight, at least. Not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I don't have siblings? Because I don't have siblings. I'm sorry. 
> 
> Fun fact, there's a whaling song entitled "Johnny Come Down to Ilo," and the debate over whether it is referring to Hilo, Hawai'i or Ilo, Peru continues to this day. I'm saying Ilo because A. it sounds right and B. I don't like it. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from "Zebra Dun," a cowboy poem turned folk song famously sung by Don Edwards. It's a funny one, I strongly recommend YouTubing it.


	3. Big Buck Man with his Sea Boots on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk gives Lance a grammar lesson and learns a bit more about the scary Malihini.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter.

The clearing was empty when Hunakoa arrived at dawn. The sun was just edging over the mountains, and a morning mist still cling to the scrub. Cool, but not too cool, and cloudy, but not too cloudy. It was Hunk’s favorite kind of morning. 

Keith’s horse, Pukoko, if Hunk remembered right, had its head hung down low in the pen. It was still tied to the fence with a worn out length of rope, so Hunk inched closer. Fresh looking scratches ran up its neck, and its knees were scarred with some old injury. It looked tired from close up, with its ears drooped backwards and eyes closed. Also, it wasn’t bucking like it wanted to send Keith to heaven early. That probably contributed. 

An empty bucket sat nearby, lumped in with a nearby pile of supplies. It was the wooden kind, like from the ships in the harbor. Hunk picked it up. Shiro had found water nearby, somewhere on the far side of camp. 

Hunk started walking down in the direction he remembered, and over a slight gradation he found the steam. It was a groove in the ground, small enough to jump over with a running start and bubbling slow as a neap tide. But it was clear enough to drink, and really, that’s all that mattered.

Hunk filled the bucket. The walk back to camp was short, and the horse still had its head hung low in the morning light. Hunk crept closer, close enough to almost tough. It was smaller up close. Its back only came up to Hunk’s chest, at most. He set the bucket of water down near the pen, close enough that he thought the horse could reach it, and backed up as quietly as he could. 

Behind him, a voice said, “Getting to work early, are ya?”

Hunk jumped. Lance was leaning against the fence beside him, lazily chewing on a sprig of grass. “Sorry,” Hunk said, “Sorry, I should have-”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Lance waved him off. He plucked the grass out of his mouth and pointed it towards the horse. “Thanks for getting him water, by the way. Way to take initiative, good move.”

“Thanks,” Hunk said. He glanced around the clearing, but it was still empty. “Um- It’s a nice morning.”

“That it is,” Lance said. He wore a scrap of fabric around his neck, a red faded thing with tattered edges. He tugged it away from his neck with a sigh, then pulled it off entirely. He took off his hat, waving it at his face like a fan. “It’s gonna be a hot one, ain’t it.”

Hunk shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems a bit cool to me.”

“That’s because you’re dressed for the weather.” Lance gestured towards Hunk and his significantly lighter clothing. “I’m just dressed a bit warm, I guess.”

Lance was indeed dressed far too warm. He was dressed as warm as whalers coming from the northern seas, compared to Hunk, with long trousers, heavy shoes, and a long sleeved shirt with the collar buttoned up to the neck. At least he’d ditched that blue woolen fabric. If he hadn’t, Hunk suspected he would have passed out by now, and Hunk would be stuck picking up his prone body.

“At least the dry season is almost over,” Hunk said. He gestured vaguely at the ground around them, still wet and sparkling with morning mist. “The dew is even sticking around past sunrise today.”

“This is your dry season?” Lance said. “Dios mio, this place is stranger than I thought.”

Hunk shrugged. “It gets a lot wetter than this. That hat is going to be useful. It’ll definitely keep the rain out of your eyes.”

Lance laughed. “Well, at least some of my clothes will be useful around here.”

Hunk frowned. That last sentence sounded off. Childish. “It’s ko’u lole,” he said. “My clothes. Not ka’u lole.”

“What?” Lance’s brow furrowed and he turned fully towards Hunk.

Hunk felt his face go hot. At the moment, he would not mind if a god smote the ground before him right now. People don’t like to be corrected, and a well placed bolt of lightning would probably be a good distraction. “Sorry,” Hunk said. “Old habit, it’s nothing.”

“No,” Lance said. He looked curious, thank God. “Explain.”

Hunk let out an internal sigh of relief. “Well, you said ka’u lole. The right way to say it is ka’u lole, with an ‘ah’ sound.” Hunk searched for the politest phrasing. “I kind of noticed you use kaʻu most of the time. Sometimes you need to use koʻu, thereʻs a difference.”

“Huh, really?” Lance said. “I thought there was just the one word.”

“Yeah, there’s two,” Hunk said. “Same goes for yours, his, theirs. All of those words, really. Like, I’d say kou hale, your house, but kau ipu, my water gourd. Kona wa’a, kana makau.” Hunk rubbed the back of his neck. “It- It’s hard. Kids screw it up a lot.”

“So I sound like a kid, huh.”

Hunk bit the bullet. “Yeah, a little.”

“Huh.” Lance scratched his chin. “So what’s the difference?” 

Hunk dug into his memory for an explanation. He was taught a long time ago, back when his memories were hazy and tinted gold with time. Pi’ikea had an explanation, picked up from the adults that wandered near then when they were young, and it was straightforward. “It’s like, important things are ko, and less important things are ka. Ko’u canoe, ka’u book. Kou mother, kau child.”

“That’s a bit harsh, 'aint it? Sorting everything by whether it matters on not.” Lance shook his head. “What’s so important about a damn canoe?”

Hunk remembered more that that, but only barely. Sitting on his mother’s soft lap, long ago, and holding her hands in his tiny ones as she told him that she’d always be there. “Well, that’s just one explanation. It’s more- It’s more whether you take care of something, or if it takes care of you. Ko’u makuahine, ka’u keiki.” 

In the memory, Hunakoa’s mother squeezed him tight. “Ka’u keiki,” she said, “ku’u keiki aloha.”

“That- That’s actually kind of nice,” Lance said. “What would Azul be, ko’u or ka’u?”

Hunk shook away the memory and thought. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Animals are usually ka. Ka’u ‘iole, ka’u i’a.” But ka’u still didn’t fit somehow. It didn’t feel right. Hunk pinched his chin. “She might be ko’u, actually. Things that you ride are usually ko’u.”

Lance shrugged. “That works for me. Ko’u Azul. I like it.” He smirked. “Ko’u Azul.”

The sound of footsteps cut through the morning air, coming up the hill from town. Hunk turned to see Shiro and Keith cresting the hill. They were talking low in their language, and they carried burlap sacks over their shoulders. 

Lance waved. “Hey, welina!” He started jogging towards them, and Shiro and Keith stopped talking.

Shiro smiled, just barely, and it didnʻt quite reach his eyes. “Welina.”

“Nice morning, isn’t it?” Lance clapped Shiro on the shoulder. “Good news, big guy. You’re coming out to catch a horse next.”

Shiro nodded. If he was nervous, Hunk couldn’t tell. Whether it was bravery or a good game face, Hunk wanted what he had. “Alright,” Shiro said. “What’s the procedure?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Lance turned towards Hunk, raising his voice as he did. “Hey Hunk? You and keith, keep working on the lassoes. Got it?”

Hunk nodded. “Sure, we will.” He looked towards Keith for agreement.

Keith did not look like he agreed. His shoulders were hunched tight, and he leaned slightly towards Shiro. Hunk was starting to suspect that was his default state. Keith shrugged. “Fine.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. 

Lance smiled at them. “Great!” He looked over the horizon, towards Kailua, and frowned. “Hunk, have you seen pidge around?”

Hunk shook his head. “Not today.”

“Well, if he shows up, tell him to work on the lasso too.” Lance turned back to Shiro and grinned. “Come on. Let’s see if you can wrangle mustangs as well as you can wrangle whales.”

Shiro smirked and raised his good hand. “I hope not,” he said. “I only have one more of these to lose.” 

Lance laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He turned them towards the mountains and began walking towards the pen. Lance lowered his voice when they left hearing range, though Hunk could still barely pick out the words. Lance jerked his chin quickly at Shiro’s missing arm. “We’ll figure this out on the way.”

* * *

Pidge showed up not long after Lance and Shiro passed out of sight. He stood awkwardly at the edge of camp, shifting his weight from foot to foot and gripping one wrist tight in the other hand. 

Hunk waved him over with one hand, the other still occupied with the strands of his lasso. “Hey Pidge, over here.” 

Pidge nodded, then made his way next to Hunk. He sat, then spread his hands wide. “So, what’s up?”

“Shiro and Lance left just before you got here.” Hunk held up his braid. “We’re supposed to keep braiding until they get back.”

“Alright.” Pidge said. He looked over at the fence and frowned. “Where’d mine go?”

Hunk picked up the spare braid at his side. “Right here.”

“Sweet, thanks.” Pidge took the braid and wedged the end between his shoes. It was about the length of Pidge’s arm now, and it looked like it was growing fast. “How’ve you been doing?” Pidge asked. “With this, I mean.”

Hunk shrugged. “It’s fine. I wish Na’auao was here. She could do it a lot faster than I can.”

Pidge snorted. “Tell me about it. I got into a braiding contest with here once. It was the worst decision of my life.”

“When did that happen?” Hunk had made some bad choices, but challenging Na’auao on her home turf was a whole other level of dumb. 

“Eh, you weren’t around,” Pidge said. “It was a long time ago.”

That would explain it. Hunk returned to his braiding. There was a burr where Hunk’s hand had slipped with the knife, a little flap of leather that was bugging him to all hell. “Hey, can I borrow your knife?”

“Yeah, sure.” Pidge withdrew a penknife from his breast pocket and handed it to Hunk, barely taking his eyes off of his work. Pidge looked better than he did, back on that first day. His eyes were brighter now, and his hands were less twitchy. He looked better. 

But there was still something there. A hunch to his shoulders, and an anticipatory curl to his back. Like a poi dog awaiting slaughter. That hunch didn’t used to be there. Not when they were kids.

Pidge stopped his work to roll up his sleeves, and Hunk turned away. It would be better, for Hunk and for him, if Pidge never thought that he was looking at all.

* * *

Hunk decided to take a break when the sun was almost at its peak. It was getting hot, and the noonday light beat down on him like a lava flow through a Koa forest. He was almost two thirds of the way through his braiding, and it was getting long. It was nearly three times his height now, and the cord felt thick and strong between his hands. 

He set down the cord and patted around him for his sack. Kahue and Hina, by some magic, had woken up before him that morning. They insisted that they pack it, and they had filled it to bursting with food. As usual, it was far more than he needed. 

Hunk fished around inside and pulled out a laulau, tied tight and steamed to a deep green. There were at least four more of them in the bag, and far more breadfruit and bananas than any reasonable person would consume. Kahue, bless her kniving heart, had winked at him before he left, with a parting instruction to “grease the palm.”

“Hey, Pidge.” Hunk held out a laulau to Pidge. “Want some fish?”

Pidge eyed the bundle. “Is that Piʻikeaʻs ‘opelu?”

“Yeah, she just made it last night.”

“Oh hell yes.” Pidge took it from Hunk and tore it open. He moaned at the smell and Hunk chuckled.

“That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” Pidge said, from around a mouthful of fish.

To be fair, that was a reasonable reaction to Pi’ikea’s ‘opelu. “You and Na’auao used to fight over these so much, remember?” Those had been fun nights, sitting around a warm fire and watching Pidge and Na’auao, stealing bites from each other's hands and bickering over who got the larger portion. “You two always loved Pi’i’s laulau, remember that?”

Pidge’s cheeks colored pink. “Yeah, I remember.”

Hunk sighed. “You two were such good friends. It was so cute.”

Pidge’s face darked further. That wasn’t pink, it was a full on red. “Yeah,” he said, in a notably high pitch. “Friends. Just friends. Good friends.” Pidge returned to his food with a renewed vigor. His ears were still tinged pink with a blush. 

Some wasp’s nests are better left unturned. Hunk shrugged and stood up. “I’m going to see if Keith wants any, alright?”

Pidge waved him off, head still ducked firmly down. “Yep, no problem. Go ahead.”

Keith was sitting alone a few paces away. He was working on his braid with the fervor of a strung out steersman after the third day at sea, and he didn’t show any signs of stopping. Hunk coughed. Keith’s eyes shot up in a second, and he locked on with the intense focus of a wild dog. A more reasonable voice spoke up in Hunk’s head, one that sounded suspiciously like Kahue, telling him not to screw with crazy.

Hunk waved, staunchly ignoring the voice. “Keith, hey.” Hunk sat down a pace or so away from Keith. He just so happened to be out of arm reach too, but that was neither here nor there. Hunk held up the bag. “Do you want some fish?”

Keith scanned the bag warily and said nothing.

“Food,” Hunk said. He shook the bag for emphasis. “I’ve got plenty.” He took a laulau out of his bag and unwrapped it. He held it out towards Keith. “Fish?”

Keith’s eyes darted from the fish, to Hunk, then back again. Slowly, he nodded and set down his braiding to take the packet. Hunk took out his own laulau and pulled it apart. The smell of salt and fish hit him, and his mouth began to water, just at the smell. He never knew what it was, but Pi’ikea made the best ‘opelu.

Keith grunted, and Hunk turned to look. He held out a tough looking lump of cracker. Honestly, it looked more like a tenderized rock than anything edible. Keith ticked his eyebrows up in question and held it out to hunk. Hunkhad heard what sailor’s hardtack was like, and he didn’t particularly relish the idea of trying it out for himself.

Hunk shook his head with a smile. “No thanks, I’ve got plenty.”

Keith shrugged and dunked the cracker in water. He popped it into his mouth and bit down with a sickening crack. Pi’ikea would have been horrified. He wolfed down his food and restarted his work, still chewing as he began braiding again. There was another lasso, lying on the ground next to Keith. It was about a third done, and the beginning was rough and twisted looking. 

“Keith,” Hunk said. “Is that one Shiro’s?”

Keith looked at him blankly and shrugged. Hunk pointed at the lasso again. “That. Is it Shiro’s?”

Keith nodded. “Ae.”

“Oh, thanks.” Hunk said. He took a few more bites of fish and examined the lasso. “Do you think Shiro would mind if I worked on it?”

Keith blinked at him again, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.” Keith went back to his braiding, and Hunk decided to take that as a yes. He grabbed the lasso, and began braiding at his usual speed. Keith was working fast and intense. He was silent, eerie silent, and Hunk couldn’t help but shift apprehensively.

“So,” Hunk said. “What was catching a horse like?”

Keith didn’t look up from his braid. “Fine.”

Hunk scrambled for something, anything, to ask. Something to break the stalemate. “Was it hard?”

Keith tilted his head from side to side. “Yes. Kinda.”

“It was? How?”

“Yes. ‘Eha.”

It was Hunk’s turn to blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

Keith put down his braid and yanked up the hem of his shirt. A bruise was stamped across his ribs, ugly purple and in the shape of a horse’s hoof. Hunk’s stomach lurched. “‘Eha,” Keith said, and he dropped his shirt down. He didn’t drop it fast enough. His back was covered in scars, white lines and dark patches that criss crossed his torso. The shirt fell back into place, and Keith picked up his braid again. 

Hunk hissed. “That looked bad,” he said, side aching in sympathy. “It looked really bad. Are you alright?”

“Fine”

Hunk pushed on. Injuries like that should not be left on their own, and a little embodiment of Hina in his mind was very insistent on that fact. “Do you want me to take a look at it? It might be broken, have you checked?”

Keith huffed. “Fine.”

“Or my sister could take a look.” Hunk was rambling, and he knew it. All he could think of was that bruise and the size of that horse’s flank. It was enough to kill a guy. “My sister Hina, she’s pretty good with healing. She could-”

Keith growled. He dropped his braid into his lap and looked up at the sky. His teeth were clenched when he spoke. “Fine.” He picked up his braid and started again. Almost inaudibly, he muttered something in that language of his. “Naze kare wa īdesu ka? Yamete...”

“What?” Hunk said. 

Keith huffed again. “Fine. Shiro did. Fine.”

“Shiro took a look at it?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“Oh, good.” Hunk picked up his braiding again and tried to drop his concern. “You and Shiro. You seem pretty ho’oalohaloha.”

Keith Squinted at hunk and sighed. “What.”

“Uh...” Hunk searched for another word, something simpler to make his point. “You’re close. You and Shiro. Close.”

“Oh.” Keith nodded. “Ae. Brothers.”

“So I’ve heard.” Hunk paused his braiding. “You know, you don’t look that much alike.”

They really didn’t not past the surface. After more than a cursory glance, their faces were night and day. Keith’s nose turned up in an impudent hook while Shiro’s was straight and narrow, like the prow of a whaling ship. Keith’s eyes were wide and round, always shifting from one potential threat to the next with a flitting glare. Shiro’s were sharp and focused, straightforward in a way Keith never seemed to be. 

Keith shrugged. “Not, then,” he said. “Not blood. Shiro found me, I-” he scrunched up his nose and sighed. “Japan. Fire.” He sighed and shook his head. Hunk had seen that look before. It was the look of someone who couldn’t find the words. Keith shrugged. “Saved me. Brothers now.”

“I guess you are brothers, then.”

Keith nodded. He stood up and tossed away the fish bones. “Thanks.” He picked up his saddle and walked towards the paddock, half finished braid left by his side.

* * *

Hunk worked in silence until he heard hoof beats and shouting coming down the hill. Lance was pulling hard on the lasso tied to his saddle and Shiro strained next to him, rope wrapped around his arm and heels digging in hard, as they tried to pull a big black horse though the gates of the pen behind them. Hunk scrambled to his feet. The horse was huge. Really huge. It was bigger than Azul by a few hands, at least, and its coat was black as a sacrificial pig.

Hunk blurted out the first words that came to his mind. “Horses can be black?” 

Pidge laughed, and Hunk felt his face heat. Keith snorted with a smirk at Hunk, then pulled himself to his feet. He shouted something towards Shiro and ran towards the pen. Lance turned back towards Hunk and smiled. It was an amused, cocky smile, and Hunk felt his face heat even more. “Yeah,” Lance shouted, “they can be.” Lance leapt off of Azul and snagged the rope from Shiro’s hand. Lance lashed the rope to a fence post before dodging backwards, just out of the horse’s range. He tipped back his head and sighed hard. “This one’s a beauty, huh Shiro?”

Shiro did not immediately respond. He seemed to be quite occupied trying to catch his breath. Shiro flashed Lance a thumbs up with all the vitality of a land snail. Keith rolled his eyes and slapped Shiro on the back. “Breathe.”

Shiro stared at Keith, chest still heaving. “I’m trying.” He swore and leaned over, hand braced against his knee.

Lance clapped Shiro on the shoulder and laughed. “He’s definitely going to be strong enough to carry you, big guy.”

Shiro straightened up with a long groan. “Yeah, big and strong.” He cursed. “Very strong.”

The horse pulled at the rope tying it to the fence, and something in the pen creaked. Hunk wasn’t sure if the sound had come from the rope or the fence, and honestly he didn’t want to know. Lance’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, really strong. That’s for damn sure.” Lance turned to Shiro. “Shiro, buddy. Add another rope. Please.” Shiro groaned again and scrambled to do so. 

Seemingly satisfied, Lance walked over to their makeshift sitting area, where Pidge and Hunk were still standing dumbfounded. “So,” Lance said, “how’s it going with the lassoes?”

Pidge shrugged and held his out. “Pretty good.” 

It was around two thirds of the way done and even enough to pass muster. Lance took it from Pidge’s hand and ran it through his fingers. He nodded. “Looks good so far. Keep it up.” Lance handed it back and moved next to Hunk. He nodded at the lasso. It was almost done now, only a few feet undone from the end. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Hunk handed over the lasso. Lance felt over its length and stretched it, humming a song that Hunk didn’t recognize. His fingers were long. Long and strong looking, with scars and calluses running the length to roughly bitten nails. They were nice hands. Very nice hands. 

Lance pulled on the lasso, and a loud snap shook Hunk out of an unexpected daze. “Very good, actually,” Lance said. “You’re a natural.” Lance tipped the brim of his hat back and dropped to the ground with an exhale. He patted the ground next to him, and Hunk sat down cross legged.

“So, did anything else happen today?” Lance asked. 

Hunk searched his memories. It had been a whole lot of nothing, except- “Keith tried to ride his horse around noon.” Yeah, it had been a shitshow.

Lance whistled. “No kidding!”

“Yeah, really.”

Lance said, “I saw Pukoko was saddled, but I didn’t think he actually tried. How far’d he get?”

Keith had not lasted long at all; it was ugly. The horse was pissed and the ground was hard and- yeah, not pretty. “A few moments,” Hunk said. “Not long.”

Lance winced. “Ouch. Did he fall hard?”

Um, yikes. The less said about that the better. Hunk had heard a crack. “Not too badly,” Hunk lied. “He almost landed on his feet.”

“Good. We don’t want to scare him off.” Lance sighed and looked over the horizon. The sun was low, about a hand’s breadth from the sea and obscured by pinkish clouds. Lance lowered his voice to a murmur. “Do you think Pidge is sticking around? The rest of you seem to be set, but him...” Lance sucked on his teeth. 

It was a question worth asking. Hunk might be able to read the writing on the wall, as far as Pidge was concerned, but Lance wasn’t so lucky. He’d known Pidge for a few days. Hunk knew Pidge for a lifetime. “Yes,” Hunk said. He lowered his voice further and his heart grew heavy, like a bright day swallowed by a dark cloud on the horizon. “Honestly, I don’t think he has much to go back to.”

“Oh.” Lance winced in sympathy. It was getting colder now as evening fell, and the world returned to a softer tinge as the sun passed behind a cloud. “What about you?” Lance asked. “You planning on sticking ‘round?”

“I’m staying.” Hunk didn’t know the words were true until they had left his mouth. The revelation thumped against his sternum like a rocking canoe in open waters. Hard. Risky. He looked towards Lance. He realized, with a weird sort of flip in his chest, that it was the first time since that morning that he looked into Lance’s eyes. Even in the dark, they were still sparkling. “My sisters need the money,” Hunk said, “so I’m staying.”

“Good to hear,” Lance said. He tipped the brim of his hat down, and one corner of his lip quirked up in a half smile. “Honestly, I’m starting to like your style. You’re a decent guy.” 

Hunk’s heart gave up any pretense and did a somersault. He started to smile a goofy grin, despite his best efforts to the contrary, when a loud shout rang out from the pen, followed by the snorting roar of an angry horse. Hunk whipped around to see Keith in the saddle again. He was staying on better this time, thank god, though the horse still bucked like it personally and intently wanted him dead. It would almost make Hunk believe in miracles, that he was staying on at all. He could see something though, something off about the saddle, if he could just…

Lance swore. “Did he tie himself to the saddle?” He scrambled to his feet. “That crazy bastard.” Lance ran towards the pen, and Hunk followed behind. 

Shiro stood just out of range of the bucking horse. His brows were drawn hard, and he looked somewhere in the gray area between worried, fed up, and angry as hell. Hunk was starting to think this man had experience with “crazy bastards,” and that he was not happy about it. Shiro shouted something in Japanese at Keith. “Oriru! Keith!” Shiro cursed and muttered something too fast for Hunk to follow. It probably wasn’t polite. Lance pulled up just short of the fence and Shiro whirled on him. “Should we do something?” He said. 

Lance shook his head and laughed incredulously. “Not much we can do, big guy. They’re both tied. Anyone who gets close is gettin’ kicked to next week.” Lance shrugged. “We’ll just have to see how this plays out.”

The horse kept bucking, eyes wide and snorting hard. Keith cursed in some language on its back. It wasn’t Hawaiian, but it certainly wasn’t Japanese either. Whatever language it was, it was pissed. Keith dug his heels into the horses sides hard, and it bucked. All they could do, from various distances outside of the beasts reach, was stand and watch. 

The horse seemed to calm down after a while. At least, it tired itself out from the effort of unleashing its unholy fury on Keith’s tailbone. It slowed to a stop, still shaking its head and huffing out winded breaths. Keith deftly untied the rope and slid off the saddle, stumbling quickly out of range. Quick as a cockfight, Lance snatched a rope off the ground and darted towards the horse. He looped the rope back around its neck and tied it to the fence. 

Shiro, it seemed, had his attention focused elsewhere. He grabbed Keith’s arm and pulled him even further back from the horse. He began talking in rapid fire Japanese, sharp and short and tinged with a feeble attempt at calm. Hunk winced. He’d gotten on Pi’ikea’s bad side enough times to know a scolding when he saw one. 

Keith, however, seemed unfazed. He rolled his eyes. That only seemed to incense Shiro more, and the lecture upgraded to semi-panicked shouting. Keith whirled on Shiro, tugged his arm out of Shiro’s hold, and began shouting back. Hunk winced and covered his ears. The man had a pair of lungs. 

Lance tapped Hunk on the shoulder. He smirked, eyes sparkling with the smile. “We should probably leave them to it. Wouldn’t want to get caught in the middle, now do we?”

“Yep,” Hunk said quickly. “Yep, let’s go. Now. Please.”

Lance turned Hunk back towards the camp. Pidge was sitting in the clearing, pretending very hard that he did not see anything behind him. “Hey Pidge,” Lance shouted. “Come help me and Hunk unpack some of these barrels.”

Pidge looked to the sky and whispered a reverent “Thank you.” He gladly slunk with Hunk and Lance to the opposite side of the clearing, blessedly far away from the angry shouting of whalers with plenty of accessible knives. 

The argument cooled off eventually, though it would probably be more accurate to say it eased to a simmer. Annoyed glances and worried looks still darted back and forth between the pair, and Keith was noticeably more red faced. When Lance called them over to the failed remains of a fire, they sat a good few feet apart. 

Lance clapped his hands. “So, it’s time for me to tell you about horses. They’re giant, angry animals, and y’all’re gonna have to break them in. Keith here has already started working on that.” Lance shot a glance towards Keith. Keith smirked with a smug tilt of his head, and Shiro glared at him side eyed. And like that, the tension was back. Hunk wanted to melt into the ground at that moment, he really did.

Lance, by some strength of constitution that Hunk did not have, plowed on. “By the time we’re done with ‘em, you’ll be able to tell ‘em to go forward, stop and turn. It ain’t much, but it’s gonna take a while. It’ll be a good long time before you can get ‘em as good as Azul.”

He lifted the corner of Pidge’s saddle next to him and let it drop back down with a thump. “In case you hadn’t picked it up, this is a saddle. You sit in it. Those straps of leather for the horse’s head are called the bridal. We’ve got some of those for y’all too, and you use them to steer. Any questions?” 

Hunk shook his head, no, and the others did the same. 

Lance snagged his lasso from his side and stood up. He held it up in front of him for emphasis. “This is a lasso. Y’all’ll be using this to actually catch the bastards. Watch.” He pulled loose a loop from the lasso. He spun it over his head and threw it, and the loop landed neatly around a nearby barrel. Lance throw was smooth, as natural as if it was part of his body, as inseparable as a foot or an arm. 

Lance walked to the barrel lazily to retrieve it. “It takes practice,” he said. “As soon as y’all finish up those lassoes, get practicing. Everyone get that?”

Pidge raised his hand. “Can you demonstrate again?” he said. 

“Sure thing.” Lance repeated the motion, slow and deliberate. He reeled it back in and shrugged. “Y'all'll just need to practice.” He dropped down by the failed fire again and stretched. “That’s about it for today. I’m beat.” The sun was set now, a ring of faded light just barely visible over the sea. “Hey, Hunk,” Lance said. “Do you think the weather will be good tonight?”

There hadn’t been many clouds over the mountains, and the air still felt light and dry around the camp. “It should be fine,” Hunk said.

“Great,” Lance said. “I’m gonna sleep here tonight. If anyone wants to stick around, you’re welcome to.”

Pidge glanced toward Hunk, then towards the ocean. There was a searching look in his eyes, and his jaw set with a final tick. “I’ll stay,” he said. 

Shrio nudges Keith and Keith shrugged. “Us too,” Shiro said.

Lance smiled, just a little. “Great,” he said, “That’s great to hear.” He turned his bright gaze on Hunk, and Gods, if he didn’t look hopeful. “What about you, bud? Got anything else happening tonight?”

His sisters would be settling in to eat, around now. They’d be talking story about their days, combing out their hair and laughing. Akia might even show off one of her new projects. She loved to do that, on nights like this. By the time he got back, if he left right now, they’d be putting out the fire, bright voices turning to soft hums as sleep drew near. There was a pang in Hunk’s chest, like a distant thread being pulled taut. 

But right now, they were looking at him. Pidge hopeful, and Shiro curious, and Lance expectant, with those bright, sparkling eyes dazzling Hunk’s good sense. He opened his mouth, and he meant to say not tonight. He meant to say he had his family. He meant to say no. But he saw Lance’s face fall, and the words died in his throat. “I’ll stay,” he said. He ignored the lump growing in his throat, and he ignored the low-burning smolder of guilt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did base an entire scene around the grammar of Hawaiian possessives. I have no shame. It's a fascinating system and there are as many ideas about the difference between -o and -a possessives as there are -o possessive words. I prefer the "taking care of" explanation, since it sounds the nicest. Hawaiian grammar can sound mean to English speakers. 
> 
> (There's a specific set of 1st person plural pronouns specifically for excluding the person you're talking to from the "we." It's useful as Hell, but it sounds really mean when you explain it.)
> 
> The chapter title comes from "Johnny Come Down to Ilo," an old whaling song which I still dislike. I was tempted to quote "Waiomina," a Hawaiian song about the Paniolo who went to compete in rodeos in Wyoming, but my translation skills are rusty and I couldn't make it fit.


	4. The Glory Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk and Lance head out to catch a horse, and Hunakoa goes home for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter.

The dawn Hunk woke to was a soft one. A gentle rain was falling, one that could barely be called a rain. It was more of a mist, one that settled on the ground gentle and kind and graced closed eyelashes with droplets of light. The others were still asleep, as far as Hunk could tell; the camp was quiet.

Hunk sat up and rubbed at the kink in his neck. Lance lay on the ground not far away, with his head rested on his saddle and hat tilted over his eyes. Hunk stood up carefully. He retrieved a couple of buckets from near the pen. Someone had to do morning chores, after all. Hunk’s gourd was nearby, flung off to the side sometime the night before. Hunk picked up up and walked in the direction of the stream. It would be clear, in this weather, and good to drink. 

As it turned out, Hunk was right. He splashed his face with cupped hands. The water was cold in the morning dim. The ice melts might even be feeding it far up in the mountains, given the season they’d just had. Cooler than usual, and with few heat waves and temper tantrums from Pele.

Hunk’s sisters would be waking up, around now. Pi’i would get up first, then Hina and Maile along with her. They would notice he wasn’t there, by now, and they might worry. Hunk hoped that they wouldn’t. He hoped that they knew he was safe. Well, they might know, but that wouldn’t stop them from worrying. 

He filled the buckets in the stream and capped off his gourd. Shiro was awake by the time Hunk got back to camp, leaning on the fence of the horse pen and chewing on something small and hard. Hunk set down one of the buckets by the camp, then carried the other to the pen. He leaned on the fence next to Shiro. “Good morning,” he said.

Shiro nodded at him. “Morning.” The black horse lay curled near the fence. It looked smaller like that, not quite as imposing, without the pulling and raw strength. The horse lifted its head and nickered. It didn’t rise, just turning its big head to look over the field. 

“Are you planning to name it?” Hunk said quietly.

Shiro shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can’t think of a good name.” The horse’s soft black coat shone like pahoehoe in the dawn light, like it was gleaming from within. It snorted, and Hunk could see something almost like intelligence in its eyes. 

“Hiwa,” Hunk said, “or Pano. That seems right.”

“Pano, that fits.” Shiro chuckled and tilted his head towards Pukoko, still lying prone at the edge of the pen. “Might as well give them matching names.”

Hunk nodded. It was too early and his brain was still too slow for further words. He set the bucket down at the edge of the fence. Close enough that the horses could reach it, come sunrise. “Hey Hunk,” Shiro said. His mouth quirked up in a slight smile. “It’s a nice morning.”

* * *

Lance woke up a while later, just as the sun crested the horizon. He lifted his hat off his face, blinking into the sun and the gradually falling rain. He swore and wiped at his face. “God, where’d this rain come from?” He sat up, and tugged at his slightly damp shirt. “Ugh, I’m soaked.”

Hunk paused his braiding to shrug. “It’ll burn off in an hour,” he said. It was quite dry for this part of the year, really. Wherever Lance came from had to be a lot drier than here. Hunk remembered with a spark of delight, that the wet season was coming fast. Watching Lance learn to live in that would be very fun. 

Lance groaned as he stood up. “An hour? Not fast enough.” He rubbed at his face. “Do we have any water?” Hunk pointed towards the bucket, around half full now that Keith and Pidge had both used it. “Thanks bud.” Lance stretched his arms above him before making his way to the bucket. He took a long drink and washed his face off with his still wet hands, then walked over to the pen. 

Hunk stood up and set his braid aside. He set about preparing some leftover food from the day before, kalo from his sisters and hardtack from the barrels. Pidge, blessedly, had woken up a bit before Keith. He’d been sent to find firewood, and Keith was ordered off close behind. The fire from last night had been pathetic. There was too little kindling and not enough big logs to really get it going. If they were going to be here for the long haul, they’d need a campfire they could cook on, at least. Hunk hoped that they would be. 

* * *

Pidge came back to camp when the sun was high and full. He dropped a bundle of sticks down by the fire pit and sat down with a huff. “Morning, Hunk.” 

“Morning,” Hunk said. He pointed towards the firepit. “It’s not worth trying this morning. Everything is still too wet.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pidge said. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “It’s either you or me today, you know, for the horses.”

Hunk sucked his teeth. He knew, he just wished it wasn’t. “Yeah.”

“You nervous?” Pidge asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Nah,” Pidge said. “I’m absolutely thrilled to go wrestle a half ton animal to the ground and drag it down the mountain like a trophy. It sounds like a delightful start to the day.”

Hunk snorted. “And what a fine trophy it will be.” He went back to his braiding. 

He’d worked through another forearms length when Lance wandered back to the camp. “Shiro,” Lance shouted, “Come on back.” He took off his hat, wiping a line of moisture off of his brow. “Rain. I never got used to rain.”

“You better get used to it soon,” Pidge said. “The wet season is coming.”

Lance groaned. “So I’ve been told.” Shiro arrived back at the campsite with a small bundle of wood under his arm. “Right,” Lance said. “Shiro and Pidge, you know the drill. Work on your lassoes. Tell Keith when he gets back.” Lance clapped hunk on the shoulder and smiled a cocky smile. “Your turn, bud. Grab a rope, let’s go.”

Well, shit. Luck was not on his side this morning. Pidge shot him an apologetic look before darting out of sight. Yeah, Hunk thought, thanks traitor. He pulled himself to is feet and found a length of rope, around twice his height and the width of two fingers held together. Lance set about saddling Azul as Hunk pulled things together, and he smiled at Hunk when he approached. Lance grabbed his saddle and mounted, then threw a look back over his shoulder at Hunk. “Follow me.” He rode ahead towards the mountains and didn’t look back

Hunk would rather dive into the sea and swim to Tahiti, but he followed anyway. A few paces later, Lance pulled back on Azul so that she walked beside Hunk. Lance threw him a cocky grin. “Nervous, big guy?”

Hunk laughed, a bit higher pitched than he intended. “No.” A few paces later, he sighed. “Yes.”

Lance shrugged. “That’s fair,” he said. “I was scared as hell the first time I caught a mustang myself.” He leaned down and gripped Hunk’s shoulder. His smile was warmer now, with a shade of wry softness that was never in his cocky grins. “Don’t be. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Lance straightened up again and threw back on his cocky smile. “So, here’s what’s gonna happen.” He pointed towards the mountains. “The horses live in the groves up there. They’re- I don’t know the word for it. It’s them shrubby trees. Thorny. Real rough.”

“Kiawe.” Hunk responded automatically. Kiawe was common up here. It’s good for firewood and not much else. 

“Kiawe. Well, I’m gonna go into the kiawe and cut a horse from the herd.” Lance dropped the reins and started gesturing with both hands. “I’ll drive it out into the open and rope it. That’s where you come in. You’re gonna rope it with that thing, nice and tight, and you’re gonna tie it to a tree.” He picked up the reins again. “That way we can tire it out and lead it back to camp. Sounds good?”

This sounded about as good as collecting opihi on a king tide. “What happens if it gets loose?”

Lance shrugged. “Then I go find another one. Horses get loose all the time.” Hunk opened his mouth to say that was not his primary concern, but Lance turned back towards him. He examined Hunk like he was talleying sums written on Hunk’s biceps. “You’re a big one. I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”

Hunk felt his face go red. “I hope not,” Hunk said. 

Lance spurred Azul faster. “Come on, only a couple more miles to go.”

Hunk groaned.

* * *

Lance stopped them when they reached the edge of the kiawe. It was sparse, scraggly, and sharp looking, with small green sprouts weaving their way through the toughened leaves. Lance hopped out of the saddle and knelt down by Azul. He unbuckled the saddle and tightened the cinch. Still kneeling, he said, “Here’s the plan. You wait here with the rope, and I’m gonna go in and drive one out.” He stood. “Once I rope one and pull it toward the trees, you rope its neck. Maopopo?”

Hunk nodded. “Yeah, got it.”

Lance lifted one of Azul’s hooves and studied it with a furrowed brow. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he dropped it. “If you hear me shouting, start going that way. It might be a long while before I get out again.”

Lance mounted Azul again. Anxiety rising in his chest, Hunk called out. “Do you have any advice?”

Lance smiled that infuriating, cocky smile again. “Stay away from the parts that kick.” He clicked his tongue and spurred Azul into the forest. 

* * *

It wasn’t long before Hunk heard shouts from the forest. They were whooping, yipping shouts. High pitched and insistent, and they were accompanied by the pounding of many, many hooves. Hunk scrambled to his feet. It sounded like they were coming from everywhere, left and right and definitely behind. He had no idea which way to run. He listened, hard, and tilted his head.

The shouting was coming from behind him. 

Hunk ran from the side, and the hooves grew louder. Lance’s voice rang separate from the din now, yelling in a language Hunk didn’t understand. Then behind him, a herd of easily a dozen horses burst out of the kiawe, brown and red and grey and tan and far too big. Hot on their heels was Lance, still shouting and with his lasso already swinging over his head. 

Lance shouted something, and Azul darted into the herd. She slipped in between the fleeing horses, weaving and checking them until one, a big yellow thing, was cut from the herd. Lance turned on heel to follow it. It tried to dart around him, back into the herd, but Azul was quicker, and they cut it off before it could get past. 

Around ten feet away from it, Lance threw his lasso. The horse bellowed as the loop landed around it;s neck, and the rope pulled tight. Hunk started running into the plains. Lance shouted something at Azul again, and Azul dropped into a sliding stop, digging her heels into the earth. The horse was yanked back, but only for a moment. It kept pulling, straining hard against the lasso. A few hard steps, and Azul was pulled along with it. 

Lance cursed and wrapped the lasso a few more times around the horn of his saddle. “Hunk,” he shouted. “Change of plans. Rope it now.”

Hunk ran as fast as he could onto the plateau. His heart thumped as fast the manic horses hooves and as hard as thunder in his chest. He was within reach of the horse when it started away from it, snorting loud and eyes wild. Hunk jumped back. He shook his head and ran in again. He slipped the rope around the horses neck and - God, dodged a kick - and pulled the loop tight. 

The horse bellowed, louder than anything Hunk had heard since the last eruption. Lance said something again and leapt off Azul’s back. “Grab the lasso,” he shouted. Hunk dropped the rope and ran towards Azul. He gripped the lsso, and he could feel the tension running through it, stiff as a tree branch with the force of two beasts straining to pull each other away. 

Lance sprinted to the rope and picked it up, quick and lithe as a rat darting through the trees. The horse started away from him, bellowing even louder than before, but Lance didn’t jump. The horse reared, and Lance darted in, quick as anything. He looped the rope around the horse’s front leg and pulled tight. 

After that it was a blur. The horse stumbled and fell to the ground, one leg tied up to its chest and breathing hard, and Lance stood back up and laughed. His eyes were sparkling as he cheered, punching the sky with a crowing whoop. Hunk let go of the lasso. He began walking towards Lance, meaning to - he didn’t know what he was meaning to do. He stopped and dropped to the ground, breathing almost as hard as the horse.

The horse was - it was big. Brownish yellow, the same color of cracked dry grass in the season of Ku, with a dark mane and tail and a dark line running down its back. Lance sat down next to Hunk and exhaled hard. “Like her?” he said. “She’s yours now.”

“Yeah, I-” Hunk shook his head. “Akua.” He could only stare at the thing. He was going to ride that thing. Him. It was still really big. Hunk shook himself and cleared his throat. “I’m guessing all of that wasn’t normal.”

Lance laughed. “Hell no,” he said. “She was stronger than Azul; that was a problem.” Lance gestured towards Azul, grazing a few strides away.

“Yeah, I saw,” Hunk said. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Lance said. “The horses here, they’re pretty small. You and Shiro though, you managed to get the big ones.” He stretched his arms above him and groaned as he let them drop. His voice was softer when he spoke next, smile relaxing to barely a curl of the lips. “I tried to get one of the strong ones for you, big guy.” 

Lance clapped Hunk on the shoulder, blaise and jockish as a firm handshake. Hunk’s nervous system took note of exactly that hand lingered, and how long he was caught with his bare skin still burning at the bare touch. “So, you got a name for her?” Lance asked. 

The horse’s breathing slowed, and she dropped her head to the ground with a huff of exhaustion. “Melemele,” Hunk said. 

“Yellow?” Lance said. “Huh, pretty.”

In memories tinged gold with time, Hunk saw his mother. She would sing to him, when he was young. Lovely meles with no real meaning but the love they held. “Yeah,” he said. “Yellow.”

Lance pulled himself to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his pants. “Come on, let’s get Melemele down the hill.” Lance untied the horse's leg with a few deft flicks and she stood, calmer than before, but no less imposing. Lance mounted Azul again. “Grab that rope, would ya? Wouldn’t want her to get away, after all my hard work.”

Hunk laughed. “Your hard work? If anyone deserves the credit, it’s Azul.” Melemele snorted and shook her head. “See? She agrees with me.”

Lance laughed. “Come on, we’ve got a long way to go.” Lance kicked Azul forward and they began walking with a whinny. A soft mist began to fall again, like it usually did this time of year, a warm soft shroud descending around them and they began the trek down the mountain

* * *

The rain let up by the time they reached camp. The sun was barely halfway up its climb in the sky, and the ground was steaming with the dissolving rain. Mele walked behind hunk with surprising ease. She pulled on occasion, and she bucked, but she was otherwise willing to be pulled down the path. Lance wrangled her into the pen and ordered Hunk to tie her up. 

He himself slid off Azuls back and stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow. When Hunk finished, Lance clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Congrats, bud. The easy part’s over.” Lance shouted, “Pidge, get over here.”

Pidge, who had been pretending to braid by the tiny fire, scrambled to his feet. “Yeah?”

Lance picked up a loose length of rope and threw it at Pidge. “Your turn, come on.”

Pidge caught the rope gracelessly. He looked like he’d rather run full tilt into a whalers bar fight than follow. Yeah, Hunk could sympathize. He flashed Pidge a smile and whispered, “Good luck.”

Pidge set his jaw and nodded. He shouted towards Lance, “Right, coming.” 

Hunk busied himself with checking the ropes holding the horses to the pen. After a few moments, he glanced over his shoulder. The pair had in fact disappeared over the slight grade up the mountains. Keith and Shiro sat together, yet again. They were braiding as fast as they could - though the speed difference was still substantial. They spoke, still in that language of theirs, too fast and too sure of themselves for Hunk to even hope to pick out a word. Sitting by them would be an exercise in social futility, and Hunk sighed as he abandoned thoughts of sitting near them. 

Hunk took his lasso a few paces away and sat down to work on his braid. Half his body ached and the other half screamed in indignation, but he started work on his lasso again. It was nice, going back to the certainty of handiwork. 

A few moments later, someone clicked their tongue. Hunk turned to see Shiro looking over at Hunk with a slight smile. He waved Hunk over with a hand still holding his braid. Hunk picked up his lasso with more than a little trepidation. It probably wouldn’t be that bad. They had no reason to be angry with him. Nope. This didn’t scare him at all. 

Hunk settled near them, careful not to sit too close. You do not want to get into a sailors personal space. Hunk learned that the hard way, in his younger and dumber years. Shiro set his braid down and turned towards Hunk. ”I hear you worked on my lasso the other day,” he said with a slight smirk.

Ooh, that. Keith snitched. “Yeah, I did,” Hunk said. He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.” 

“No, thanks for the help.” He smiled, more like a human and less like a shark. He gestured towards the horses. “How’d it go?”

Unless Hunk was sorely mistaken - which he very well might be - Shiro was trying to be friendly with him. The one armed whaler with an attack dog of a brother, who looked like he could control a wild mustang as easily as he could raise a mainsail, was trying to be friendly. Weird. 

“It was hard,” Hunk said. “Lance couldn't even pull her to a tree. He had to tie her up, right in the middle of the field.”

Shiro whistled. “I guess I got lucky.” He jerked his thumb towards Pano. “That one got tangled in the brush. It took a lot of effort to get him out.” He dropped his hand back into his lap. There was a set of scratches up his forearm, still bloody and irritated looking. 

Hunk pointed at the scratches. “I guess you got caught in the Kiawe too.”

Shiro laughed and flexed his arms and - wow that was muscled. Hunk knew Shiro was strong. Hunk was even pretty strong himself, or at least that was what he’d been told, but those were some thick arms. Hunk blinked. Yep, strong. “Well,” Shiro said, “We’ve got our first battle scars.”

Keith huffed, not even looking up from his braiding. “Hoy,” he snapped, sharp and low in his throat. “No kick, no complain.”

Hunk was laughing before he could realize what a monumentally bad idea that would be. Laughing at Keith for an injury is not a good idea. He seems like the type who would apply the law of ‘eye for an eye’ to prove a point. Hunk snapped his jaw shut. He lifted his hands up in surrender, though he didn’t know who he was surrendering to. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, sorry, I -” 

But Keith’s lips were turned up in a smile, and his eyes were alight with amusement. Shiro elbowed Keith in the side. “Hey, be nice to the islander.” Keith sniped something back in Japanese, and that tricky little smirk was not leaving his face. Keith looked back at Hunk with all wide eyed innocence and shrugged. 

Hunk laughed, for real this time. “Fair enough. No kick, no complain.”

* * *

The chief’s share of the day passed before Hunk finished his lasso. It was easily five times his height now, thick and strong and stiff as a bamboo spear. He wove in the ends like lane had demonstrated the night before, and just as Lance had promised they formed a loop, strong looking and smooth. Hunk threw the lasso to the side. “Hey,” he said, pitching his voice towards Shiro and Keith. “Do you want water? I’m headed to the stream.”

“Sure, thanks.” Shiro tossed Hunk two flasks - identical except for a bit more rust on one - and Hunk caught them, by some miracle. He set off towards the steam. It was a familiar path by now, and the vegetation was starting to get worn down into a trail. He refilled the fasks and his gourd and drank deep. Staying here, at least for a little while, would be nice. Soaking up the afternoon air and let his back rest. But he had water to deliver. 

By the time he got back, Keith’s lasso was finished. He was playing with it, tossing it from hand to hand and shaking the loop experimentally. Hunk set down the flasks and picked up his own lasso. “Hey, Keith,” Hunk said. Keith turned towards him with an irked look, like he’d been interrupted from important business. “Want to practice?” Hunk gestured towards a dead tree stump, a twisted thing that probably used to be an ‘ohia. 

Keith shrugged and gestured for Hunk to lead. Lance had demonstrated the throw yesterday and told them how it was done. It looked so easy on Lance, a lift of the arm, a few graceful twirls, and a hook of the wrist. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Lance had a good arm. It was a nice looking one at that, long and whipcord strong. It’d be hard as an adze stone, if Hunk ever got his hands on it, hard and strong from toned biceps to long, dextrous fingers. Hunk would not mind getting his hands on it. Not at all.

Wait. 

Where the hell did that come from?

Hunk shook himself. There were more important things to focus on, like throwing a lasso. He tried. Three loops around his head, and the last twirl hit him in the face. He tried again and threw. The loop missed by a few feet in every direction that mattered. It landed with a pitiful fwump on the ground, with the loop closed off to the size of his foot. Yeah, that wasn’t right. 

Hunk sighed and began reeling the lasso in. He waved Keith in front of him. “Your turn.” Keith took the same stance and threw, with similar success. They continued back and forth, throwing and missing, and hitting more things than either of them would like to admit with the tail end of the loop. 

It took longer than Hunk wanted to admit to notice that Shiro was watching them. His lasso was finished, except for the loop at the end, and he tracked their throws, nodding and humming like a master konane player watching a game. Hunk waved him over. He held out his lasso, looped messily into a coil. “Want to try? It’s harder than it looks, I swear.”

Shiro shrugged. “Sure.” He took the lasso and contemplated it. He tried holding the thing in one hand, manipulating the loops between his fingers, but that was apparently a loss. He switched positions, pinning the end under his arm and the remaining loops over his shoulder. It looked fine to Hunk, but something must have been off with that too, and Shiro shrugged it off. A thought seemed to strike him, and he loped the end of the lasso around the stump of his right arm. 

Shiro wound up and threw, and he came a lot closer than either Hunk or Keith. By a margin, he managed to catch the end of the lasso in the crook of his elbow and transfer it, looking triumphant to his other hand. 

Shiro reeled the lasso in and handed it back to Hunk. Hunk had a thought. It wasn’t a fully formed one, and it might not even be a good one, but it was there, growing like a seed in the back of his mind. It was worth considering though, and maybe someday even following through. Hunk threw the lasso again. 

* * *

Pidge and Lance came back to the camp near dusk, when the sun was shining hot over the ocean. To put it simply, Pidge looked annoyed. He looked like someone filled his shoes with seaweed. No wait, he looked like someone was holding one of his books out of reach, just to get him to stop reading for one minute and talk like a person. Not that either of those were real examples. Nope, Hunk would never dream of it. 

But Pidge looked annoyed, and an equally annoyed looking horse was being dragged along behind him. It was white, or at least it looked like it was supposed to be. The thing was covered grass stains, and Pidge didn’t look much better, with a small forest’s worth of sticks and leaves tangled in his hair. Lance rode behind pige, looking as cool as a sea cucumber, and he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

Hunk walked over to the pen, where Pidge was occupied trying to tie the horse to a post, and by swearing a blue streak in a mix of English, French, and archaic Greek. “Wow, you look like Hell. What happened?” Hunk said. 

Pidge gave him a look that burned with the annoyance of a thousand shirts soaked through after a badly timed water fight. Lance responded in Pidge’s stead. “Well-” He was grinning even wider now, eyes alight with glee. He gestured towards the horse. “This thing decided to lie down, right in the middle of the field. She wouldn’t get up, she just wouldn’t. It was funny, let me tell you.”

Pidge looked considerably less amused. He glared at the horse. “It’s impetulant, is what.” Hunk resisted the urge to point out, in English no less, the relative darkness of pots and kettles.

Lance whined. “Come on, that was hilarious.” Lance turned back towards hunk, a fresh smile in his eyes. “It gets better. She knocked over Pidge when she was lying down. Just like that, bam. I think he invented a few new swear words. And trust me, I know swearing.” 

Pidge scowled. “Shut up.” There was a telltale quirk to his lip though, a little show of amusement he could never totally hide. 

Hunk elbowed Pidge. “It sounds pretty funny.”

A smile officially began to crack Pidge’s face. “I will neither confirm nor deny that.” The horse snorted, and Pidge jumped. Lance just laughed. 

“You should name her Green,” Lance said. “She’s earned it. Green, the ‘pissing off pidge’ machine.”

Pidge tilted his head. “Yeah, Oma’o,” he said. He pitched his voice towards the horse. “How do you like that, jerk?” Pidge stuck out his tongue at the horse, and Hunk snorted a laugh. 

Lance took off his hat. “At least that’s done with.” He turned towards. “It’s been a long day, ain’t it?”

“You’re telling me.” Hunk paused to search for the best phrasing. “Listen, my sisters,” he said, “I’ve got to go home and see them tonight. They have to be worried by now, and I’ll be here first thing in the morning, and-”

Lance clapped his hand on Hunk’s shoulder and Hunk stopped talking. It was firm this time, not moving away. He smiled, a warm, good natured smile that made Hunk’s chest melt. “Hunk, I get it. Family is important.” He patted Hunk’s shoulder and waved with his hat towards the ocean. “Go home, I’ll see you later.”

Hunk sighed. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. It won’t be a problem, I promise.”

“Well it’s not.” Lance gestured with his hat to the west again. “Go, before it gets dark. See you back in the morning.”

A tension fell out of Hunk’s shoulders, and he hadn’t even known he was holding it. He nodded at Lance and waved goodbye to Pidge. He gathered his things - bag, water gourd, spare food - and began walking down the mountain. Lance said the easiest part was over, and he had to believe him.

* * *

The sun set beautifully that night. Red clouds hovered along the horizon, the scarlet of the maka'ainana, and a soft rain fell. It would be sunny tomorrow. Red sky at night, fisher’s delight. It was almost dark by the time Hunk reached the hale. From inside there was talking and the smell of cooked food. Pi’ikea sat just inside the doorway, framed in the light of the fire and mouth half open in a scold. 

Hunakoa hovered on the step, halfway between the land of the living and the dead hot night outside. He meant to move, to shout that he was home, to give some sign of his return. He missed them. He missed them like he missed a warm fire on a cold night. 

But Pi’ikea saw him first. 

Pi’ikea’s face contorted from a fond smile to a furious draw. She strode out of the hale, barely breaking a step as she seized Hunakoa’s arm and dragged him around the side of the house. No one could hear them, out there. Hunaka’s heart sank. He really was screwed. 

Pi’ikea hissed at him, fingers still talon tight around his arm. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”

Hunakoa’s heart curled in shame, in the way only Pi’ikea could make it do. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Sorry isn’t enough, Hunakoa,” she said. Hunakoa winced. “What. Happened.”

“I had to stay,” Hunakoa said. Pi’ikea’s grip loosened on his arm. “We needed to stay overnight, up in the mountains. It was perfectly safe, I promise.” The half truths tasted bad on his tongue, but they would save his skin. They would keep Pi’ikea from worrying too much, from forbidding him to ever go back. It would let him keep the job. It would keep his family safe. 

Pi’ikea dropped her hand and sighed. When she spoke, her voice was calmer, but no less firm. “I was worried, Huna. We were all worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You-” Pi’ikea sighed again. She closed her eyes and put on her calmest, most adult voice. “You can’t just disappear like that, not on us.”

“I know,” Hunakoa said. His throat was tight, and he had to work to get the words out. “I’m sorry, but I think this might keep happening.”

Pi’ikea exhaled, long and betraying of every year she worried over their family with noone by her side. “Dammit, Hunakoa.” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Dammit.” Pi’i pulled him into a hug, tight and protective and smelling like a dinner cooked alone. Hunakoa didn’t dare pull back. Through the stern words and sterner looks, Pi’i needed this. Pi’ikea pulled back. “Let’s go inside.”

As soon as they stepped through the door, the room exploded in a clamor of voices. 

“Where were you?”

“Are you alright?”

“What’s going on?”

“Why didn’t you come home last night?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Pi’ikea had to raise her voice to be heard. “Everyone quiet down.” She gave Hunakoa a hard look and pointed towards an empty spot by the fire. “Sit.”

He did. Without pause.

There was breadfruit cooking over the fire; they must have started without him. Hunakoa picked up a stick and poked at the fruit. “Not enough salt,” he said to Kahue, trying hard for a smirk. 

Kahue did not look amused. “Shut up. Where have you been?”

Hunakoa leaned back, trying to shrug his shoulders casually. “I had work.”

“All night?” Na’auao said. She sounded as peeved as ever. “I don’t believe you.”

“I had to stay overnight,” Hunakoa said. “Sorry I didn’t let you know.”

A voice piped out from across the fire. “We haven’t seen you all night,” Akia said. She was curled into a ball. Her knees touched her chest and she looked like she was trying not to get teary. “I miss you.”

Those three words cut through Hunakoa’s strings. “I know, Aki.” he said. “I know, and I’m sorry. I wish I could say this is going to stop, but I think it’s going to be happening more. It’s going to keep happening.”The circle fell silent. Silent, save for the crackling of the fire between them. “But I’m not going to leave you, alright?” Hunakoa’s voice cracked. “I’m not going to leave. I’m going to be around as long as you are, and that’s a promise.”

The silence did not lift. It still hung heavy as a jury, but some weight did feel lifted. Something cleared, and something felt cleaned. Pi’ikea only nodded. “Alright,” she said. She pulled the breadfruit out of the fire and set it in front of Hunakoa, still steaming. “Eat.”

“Mahalo.” It was far too hot to eat, but Hunakoa tried anyway. The fruit burned the roof of his mouth, and he swallowed with a wince. They were still watching. Hunakoa could feel the eyes. He plastered on a smile. He hoped it looked like Lance’s, cocky and sure and ready for anything to go wrong. He rubbed his hands together with a grin. “Now who wants to hear how I caught a horse?”

The clamor started again, but it was a lighter din. Happier. More excited than frustrated and afraid. Out of the corner of Hunakoa’s eye, he could see Pi’ikea’s face soften, and her mouth almost - almost - curve into a soft smile. He hoped that she could see him smiling back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's horse's name is specifically drawn from an 'olelo no'eau, or Hawaiian saying: "he weo ke kanaka, he pano ke aliʻi." It translates to the common people are scarlet (in sunlight), the chiefs are dark (obscured). Essentially, the commoners are obvious and approachable, while the Ali'i are mysterious and kapu (forbidden). 
> 
> I couldn't find historical sources on exactly how the vaquero's caught horses, so I adapted the way they were said to rope cattle. That is to say, rope the bugger, cinch it to a tree, then run in and tie it up by the horns/neck. There were some sources that described a way to hobble a horse with a rope, but there weren't exactly specifics. 
> 
> Also, the plot is going to pick up soon, I promise. Or at least, there's going to be more going on and there's going to be a new character or two in play. I will admit, the entire horse catching arc has been a slog. Hey, at least you didn't have to write it. 
> 
> The chapter title is from the Don Edwards song of the same name, which is a hilarious song about a dumbass cowboy trying to rope a mountain lion.


	5. Sunfishin' Son of a Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance runs into a pretty young lady in town, and Hunk learns a hard-earned lesson about horse breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for oblique discussion of sexual activity.

Hunk meant to leave earlier. He meant to leave sometime long before sunrise and the waking of the birds. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not without saying goodbye. A sack of food hung over his shoulder, heavy with anything and everything his sisters could throw at him. They had insisted, and Pi’ikea saw him off with a kiss on the forehead and a few strong words about staying out of trouble. He hoped they wouldn’t hold it against him. At least, not any longer than he deserved.

By the time Hunk reached the clearing the sun was bright and high in the sky and the camp was well and truly awake. Lance flagged him down, and Hunk’s heart skipped. HIs brows were pinched together in consternation, and his eyes were dark. “Nice of you to show up,” He huffed. Lance threw a coil of rope off to the side. “We’re headed into town for supplies, see what you can do to clean up.”

Lance disappeared before Hunk could say a word. The camp was buzzing around him. Shiro stalked surely around the horse pen, checking the lashes around the fence and the integrity of the stakes. Pidge wasn’t far away, rushing back and forth with buckets of water. Hunk scanned the camp for something, anything to do. The fire was stamped out, the pile of supplies was stacked neat and orderly, and the saddles and lassoes were hung neatly by the fence. There seemed to be nothing for him to do. Hunk shifted uncomfortably. He hated being the only one not helping. 

Keith appeared out of nowhere beside Hunk. He nodded at Hunk and dropped a load of firewood by the pit. “Good morning,” Hunk said. Keith didn’t respond. 

Shiro and Pidge seemed to finish their tasks, and they sauntered back towards the campfire. Hunk waved at them, hesitant and sheepish. Pidge broke into a smile and waved back. “Hey Hunk! How were the girls?”

“They’re great,” Hunk said. 

Pidge looked at him sceptically. “Did Pi’ikea kick your ass?”

“Only a little.” Hunk remembered the bag slung over his shoulder. “Oh right, does anyone want food? My sisters insisted I bring it up for you guys.” He pulled the bag off his shoulder and pulled out a bunch of bananas, halfway ripe, but still edible if you put your mind to it. 

Pidge shrugged. “Sure, I’m starving.” 

Hunk held them out to Shiro and Keith. “Do you want any?”

Shiro took a couple of bananas. “Thank you, Hunk,” he said. He handed one to Keith and elbowed him. Keith made a confused noise, and Shiro jerked his head at Hunk. 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Mahalo,” he said, either with a thick accent or even thicker sarcasm, Hunk couldn’t tell. 

Lance clicked his tongue, and Azul came up beside them. Hunk hastily picked up his bag. Lance didn’t look angry, but Hunk couldn’t see under that hat brim. Lance’s voice was more official than usual. “Time to head out.”

Hunk cleared his throat. “Want something to eat?” He said. “My sisters insisted.” They had - Kahue kept telling him to grease the palm, and Hunakoa kept asking her to stop saying it like that - but Lance also looked pissed. Food was the least he could do to head that off at the pass.

“No, thanks,” Lance said. His eyes were fixed ahead on the horizon unseeing, and he spurred Azul on without another word. 

* * *

Lance dismounted when they reached the edge of town. It would be busy at this time of day. A mid-morning rush of- well, everyone. Fishers and Ali’i and missionaries and maka’ainana, all doing their daily errands. It was a time of day when anything could happen. Hunk hated it.

Lance secured Azul to a tree nearby with a quick knot. “Alright, here’s the plan.” He pointed at Shiro and Keith. “You two head to the docks and find a ship called La Leona. Tell them Louzeida sent you. There’s some stuff to pick up, bring it back here.” He turned to Pidge. “You stay here. Sort through everything as it comes in and make sure no one steals nothing. Hunk, you’re coming with me. Everyone got it?” Hunk nodded. “Good. Come on, I’ll tell you what we’re doing on the way.”

Lance started off towards the center of town and Hunk followed behind with short, quick steps. Lance jerked a finger at him and Hunk drew closer. “I’ve got to talk to the ali’i, and I need you there to make sure I don’t screw up,” he said. “Hawaiian. Still not my great.”

Hunk blanched. “Oh,” He said. “Alright, I’ll- I’ll just do that.” Talking to the ali’i, let’s just say it was outside of Hunk’s wheelhouse. Back in the day, Hunk would have been killed for even deigning to speak to them, without due respect. The kapu system may be gone nw, but some things linger. Hunk remembered when they were said to be descended from the Gods. The ali’i scared him, and he wasn’t ashamed to say it. 

“Great,” Lance said, and Hunk begged to differ. 

The town was fast arriving up ahead. It was busy on the main market street, dusty and congested with the clamor of haggling and cackling laughter. Hunk dodged around a few people, muttering instinctive apologies. He had to run to catch up to Lance, who was cutting through the crowd like a boar through kiawe brush. “Lance, I-” He dodged around a woman. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry I was late this morning.”

Lance sighed. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if it didn’t happen again.”

Hunk winced. “Sorry. It was my sisters, I- I couldn’t bring myself to leave, not before they were awake. Not again.”

Lance deflated. “Right, family,” he said. “How many sisters have you got?”

“Seven.” 

Lance whistled. “Damn, big family.”

That’s one way to put it. “Yeah, it kinda is.”

“That’s got to be a nightmare. Seven girls and one guy under one roof.”

Hunk shrugged. “Not really. It’s a family, you know. It’s nice. Do you have any siblings?”

Lance shook his head. “Not that I know of. Who knows, I might meet one someday.” He turned back towards Hunk and smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

A woman, face obscured by a large hat and walking with a determined purpose, ran into Lance. Lance’s eyes went wide and the woman tripped. He caught her arm before she fell and pulled her to her feet. Hunk barely had time to stop short, and when he did he backed up fast. 

“Sorry miss,” Lance said, still holding her arm in one of his big hands while the other poised just above her waist. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Yes, quite alright.” The lady was Hawaiian, young and pretty. She wore a pink, Western style dress - it looked more like the kind worn by the wives of captains than the missionaries - and her thick, wavy hair was tied up in ringlets. 

Hunk recognized that woman, and it struck him still as a stone. 

She stepped away from Lance’s hands and brushed off her dress perfunctorily. “Quite alright indeed. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

“It was my fault, I insist.” Lance’s voice was tinged with a drawling kind of lilt, and it stretched his words like eel skin against smooth stone. He picked up the parasol from the ground and held it out to her. “I’m guessing this is yours, miss.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she took the parasol from him. She frowned, brows knitting in contemplation, then her face lit up. She began speaking in English, an accent between the British ship captains and the missionaries lilting her words in a refined melody. “ _ Where are you from? You do not sound like you are from the islands. _ ”

Lance blinked in confusion, and his eyes darted towards Hunk. Lance cleared his throat and tipped the brim of his hat. “We should probably stick to Hawaiian, miss,” he said, low and self-effacing in his own accented Hawaiian. 

“Oh,” the lady said. “My apologies, I meant no offense.” She brushed back her hair. 

Lance threw on that cocky smile. “None taken at all.” He swept off his hat and bowed. “Louzeida Serrano y Acosta, at your service.”

The lady giggled. “Charmed, I’m sure. Alula’a’alaōpūokalani, at yours.”

Lance blinked. “Alula’al- That’s quite the name you got there. Do you have anything shorter?”

Hunk tensed. Lance needed to shut up, he needed to shut up now. But the woman only laughed. “My friends call me Allura.”

“Allura,” Lance said, rolling the r in that melodic accent. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Allura smiled at him. “Likewise.” She transferred her parasol to both hands and nodded. “Well, Louzeida, I wish you a pleasant time in Kona.”

“You too, miss. Keep an eye out for any strange men in your path.”

Allura bid him goodbye with a dignified wave. She glided into the crowd, and Lance watched as she left, a curious turn occupying one side of his lips. He chuffed. “She seemed like a nice lady.” 

Nice lady. Nice lady. Lance just said Alula’a’alaōpūokalani was a nice lady. Hunk shook himself out of his stupor. Lance didn’t seem to notice. He kept walking in the direction he was headed, and Hunk had to run to catch up. “Do you know who that was?” Hunk said.

Lance shrugged. “Well, she said she was Allura. What about it?”

Hunk sputtered. “That was Alula’a’alaōpūokalani, ali’i o Kona.”

“Huh?”

“She’s the ruling chief of the entire district,” Hunk hissed. He gestured around at the town, the mountains, and about a quarter mile of sea. “All of it.”

“Oh.” Lance glanced back in her direction with a look of respect. “No kidding. She seemed pretty nice for a chief.”

“I sure hope so,” Hunk said. Better nice than the alternative. 

Lance frowned. “She looked young. Is that normal for chiefs round here?”

Hunk winced. It wasn’t a pretty story. “Not really. Her father died a few years ago, and she had to take charge. I think she was sixteen.”

“Ooh, that’s rough. There wasn’t no one else in line?”

“Not exactly...” Hunk said. “There were cousins who could have made a claim. Low tier ali’i too. She fought hard to get the title.”

Lance looked, if it was possible, even more impressed. “She sounds like quite the woman. Hot damn.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And you ran into her in the town square. Literally.”

“So I did,” Lance said. “Y’all need to tell me more of this sometime. All the local politics and stuff.”

“Sure. It’s a bit boring; there isn’t much to tell.”

“I’ll love whatever you can give me,” Lance said. “I’m guessing the next ali’i I bowl over won’t be so friendly.” 

* * *

The sun is high in the sky by the time they met back at the edge of town. Pidge looked bored as a Lua master in peacetime. He leaned back against a barrel and flicked Hunk a wave as he drew near. “It took you two long enough,” Pidge said. 

“Hey,” Lance said. “We had some mighty important business. Isn’t that right, Hunk?”

Whether it was important or not, Hunk had no idea. Lance had introduced him as one of his men, and then stood near the back as discussions that he heard but did not understand took place. Hunk shrugged. “As important as getting a piece of paper can be.”

“It was a very important piece of paper, I’ll have you know,” Lance said.

Keith looked up from where he sat far into the shade of a nearby tree. He sheathed the knife he’d been playing with and rolled forward into a squat. “We go now?” he said.

Lance rolled his eyes. “We will, hold your horses. Where’s Shiro?”

Keith shouted in the direction of the trees behind him. “Shiro!”

There was a curse and the breaking of branches, and Shiro appeared from the shrub. “Sorry,” he said. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah, we’re done. Everyone grab something and get going.”

The managed to carry everything up the hill in one trip, though Hunk’s shoulders protested the decision. His arms were shaking by the time they reached camp, and he dropped the barrels unceremoniously to the ground. Pidge didn’t look much better. He set down his load - one that was considerably smaller than Hunk’s - with a groan of relief, and he flopped down to the ground. 

“I’m dying,” Pidge said. “Hey Hunk, I think I’m dying.”

“I’ll flag down a priest,” Hunk said. 

“Good luck finding one up here.” Pidge lifted his arms off the ground, then dropped them again. “God my arms hurt. That was hell.”

Hunk flexed his arm, ignoring the sore ache in favor of pettiness. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem so hard to me.”

Pidge groaned. “Ugh, shut up.”

Hunk chuckle, lied back on the grass, and closed his eyes. Somewhere off to the side, he heard Keith snort. Shiro seemed to chastise him, but Hunk couldn’t bring himself to care. A few moments later, Hunk felt something nudging at his side. He cracked open an eye to see Lance leaning over him. “Wake up, sleepy head, we’ve got stuff to do.” Lance raised his voice to the wider group. “Alright, who’s hungry? We’ve got hardtack and more hardtack.”

Now that was an opportunity if he ever saw one. Hunk sat up. “Actually, I still have some food from my sisters. How about that?”

Lance’s eyebrows ticked up. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

Hunk retrieved his bag. It was mostly breadfruit by now, roasted preemptively sometime last night. Even cold, it was a hell of a lot better than hardtack. Well, sand from a particularly clean beach would probably be better than hardtack. Hunk handed out slices of the breadfruit. Lance took a grateful bite. “Hunk, I think I love your sisters.”

Pidge smirked. “Join the club.”

A few bites later, Lance cleared his throat. “So, today you’re gonna start breaking in the horses.”

Hunk choked on his breadfruit. Catching them was one thing, but that was a distant endeavor. Any screw ups that occurred could be pushed far outside of the danger zone with a healthy urge to run away. From what Hunk picked up, this would be a lot less distant and a lot less forgiving. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the experience. Not by a long shot. 

Shiro saved him from voicing his concerns. “Are we ready?” he asked. 

“I think you are,” Lance said. “You’re all fit and you’re determined. That's all you really need. You can do it. Besides, it’s not hard to figure out. Just stay on the horse.”

Hunk snorted, and from across the circle Keith rolled his eyes. 

Lance smirked at Hunk. “Yeah, it’s harder than it sounds.” Lance wolfed down the last of his breadfruit and stood. “C’mon, I’ll show y’all the ropes.”

They followed Lance to the pen. The horses were all tied outside the pen. Plenty of room inside, Hunk guessed. It must have been set up before he got there this morning. Lance snapped his fingers at Keith. “Hey Keith, grab your saddle. Pukoko’s up first.” Lance untied Pukoko. It bucked with a high pitched squeal, but Lance held tight. He pulled the horse into the pen and shut the gate. Over the fence, Keith handed him the saddle. Lance flashed them a grin. “Watch and learn.”

Pukoko bolted across the pen. It pulled to a stop when it ran out of room to run, side turned towards Lance. Lance moved toward it and it bolted again. Lance rolled up his sleeves, exposing lithe forearms, and hefted up the saddle. The horse reared, whinnying long and loud, and Lance backed up with a curse. He crept in again, and this time it stayed planted. Maybe it was tired. Hunk hoped it was tired. 

Lance threw the saddle over its back and in a quick motion strapped it down tight. He danced out of range just before it started to buck. Lance held out his hand, eyes still fixed on the horse, and snapped, “Someone hand me the rope”

Hunk scrambled for it, but Keith was faster. He threw it to Lance with surprising accuracy, and Lance caught it. He tied the rope into a set of loops and hooked it around the horses muzzle, it reared again, but Lance held tight. “Watch,” Lance shouted. “This is important.” One handed, he untied his bandana from his neck. “You need to blind ‘em until you’re on. Once you are, take it off and let Hell fly.”

Lance let go of the rope just long enough to tie the bandana down tight. The horse snorted and bucked its head, and lance gripped the rope tight again. He crept around the side of the horse. “Keith’s already tried this part.”

Keith shrugged. “No regret.”

“If you say so.” Lance smirked. “We’ll see if I can do better.” 

Lance braced his foot in one stirrup and jumped up onto the horses back. It whinnied, and Lance cursed. “Back up,” he yelled. Hunk hurried to back away from the fence. Lance’s eyes were alight with excitement, wide and sparkling, and he pulled the blind. 

Pukoko bucked. Hard. And then it started running, bucking up and down like it wanted nothing more than to throw Lance up to the sun. Lance just laughed, and he had to grip tight to stay on. Lance swore. “Damn frogwalker.” His teeth gritted tight, and he pulled back on the reins hard. Pukoko just kept bucking. “Just give it time,” Lance shouted. “He’ll work himself out.” It bucked again. Didn’t look worn out. Not by a long shot.

But it slowed eventually. It stopped at the opposite side of the pen, breathing hard. Lance took the opportunity to get off and get out. He darted out to their side of the pen. “See?” he said, chest still heaving. “Easy.”

That horse had nearly thrown Lance off, and it was a small one. What would Mele do to Hunk?

Pidge spoke up. “How long will it take to tame them?”

“For you to be able to ride them? About seven or eight times, usually,” Lance said. “Some take longer, and you’ve really got to hold on for the ride.” He leaned over the fence and clapped Keith on the shoulder. “Your turn, bud.”

Without a blink, Keith hopped the fence and took the bandana from Lance. He glared. “Yes. My turn.” He turned his glare on the horse, stubborn and burning, and the horse set it’s ears back. Keith muttered something under his breath and charged in. He wrestled the blind of its eyes, by some heavenly force of luck, and it reared, almost screaming like a demon. Keith stumbled out of the way, then ran back in and pushed himself onto its back. 

From there he moved to fast for Hunk to track. He pulled the blind, and Pukoko let loose. It was barely a moment before he fell. Keith flew off its back and landed with an undignified thump on the hard packed dirt. Hunk leant forward on the fence. That fall didn’t look good, but if the horse charged- Shiro did the same, setting one foot on the bottom run of the fence and lifting.

But Keith was up again. He scrambled to his feet, cursing a blue streak in languages Hunk didn’t even recognize, some directed toward the horse, and he snatched back the blind. He ran back at the horse and mounted again. It bucked hard enough that Keith’s feet nearly left the stirrups. He set his jaw and gripped the reigns tighter. “No, not again.” Keith held on. He dug his heels into the horses sides with a shout, and Pukoko took off.

Lance swore. “Is that bastard gonna keep going? He just got thrown.”

Shiro rubbed his brow and sighed. “You’ll get used to it.”

The horse seemed to be slowing again. It stopped, nostrils flaring and ears set back, and Keith scrambled off. He stumbled a few paces out of range and pointed back at the horse with an accusatory jab. “ _ Ore no kachi da _ ,” he said. “ _ Ore no kachi. _ ”

Hunk leaned towards Pidge. “Do you know what he’s saying?”

“How should I know?” Pidge said. “I don’t speak Japanese.”

Shiro cleared his throat. “He’s saying ‘I win.’ Repeatedly.” He sighed. “You’ll get used to it.”

Lance groaned and dropped his head to the fence. “Bastard.” He ducked under the fence. “Alright, that’s enough.” He grabbed the rope bridal off of Pukoko’s head and slipped a simple loop over its neck. He tossed the rope to Keith. “Get that one out of the pen. Alright, who’s next?”

Shiro raised his hand. “I’ll go.”

“Great. Grab your saddle.” Lance hopped the fence and untied Pano, dragging him back in with some effort. He fitted the rope bridal over the horse’s muzzle and held tight. “Saddle him.” Shiro swung the saddle up onto the horses back and buckled it, with some difficulty. Lance wrapped his bandana around the horse’s eyes and handed the bridal to Shiro with a smirk. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said. He set his jaw and hefted himself onto the horses back, then he pulled the bandana off. The horse reared. Shiro’s eyes went wide and he fumbled for the reins, but the horse kept rearing. 

“Lean forward!” Lance shouted. He pulled himself up the fence like he was ready to jump.

Shiro wrapped his arm around the horses neck, tight enough that Hunk could see the strain in his bicep, and the horse fell back to the ground. Shiro barely had time to readjust before it bolted across the pen, kicking its feet in the air and whipping its head in the bridal. 

“Stay on,” Lance shouted. “You’ve got it.”

Shiro shot Lance a look, eyes wide and incredulous, but he stayed planted to the saddle. The horse bolted again, and Shiro hung tight. It slowed to a trot, then a walk, and then it stopped. Shiro unclenched his hand from the reins and hopped off its back. He landed next to the fence and tripped, landing hard on the ground. 

Lance hopped the fence and helped Shiro to his feet. “Wll, that was a show if I’ve ever seen one.” He laughed. “You did good.”

Shiro brushed the dirt out of his hair. His chest was heaving hand he had a new cut down the side of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance said. “That could have gone a lot worse. You didn’t pull back when he reared and you didn’t fall off.” Pano still stood next to the fence where he stopped, shaking idly at the bridal still wrapped around its head. “He calmed down quickly.” Shiro reached out cautiously and patted its neck. Hunk held his breath, but nothing happened. It just stood there, ears tilted back and eyes set off somewhere in the distance. Lance smiled. “He’ll be an easy one. Take him out of the pen, would ya?” He turned towards Pidge and Hunk, and Hunk felt his throat drop. “Who’s next?”

Hunk swallowed hard. Mele stood calm next to the pen, noticeably tall and heavy next to Pidge’s horse. She could do a lot of damage if she tried. Hunk really didn’t want to give her reason to try. 

Pidge shot Hunk a look, a tick of the eyebrows and a knowing glance at the pen. He shrugged. “I’ll go,” he said. He unbuttoned his sleeves and hopped the fence. Pidge pulled Oma’o towards the gate, but she whipped her head around and bit at the rope, pulling it from Pidge’s grasp. Pidge snatched the rope back. “No, bad horse!”

Lance laughed. “You tell ‘er, Pidge!” 

Pidge pulled Oma’o into the pen. He heaved the saddle onto her back and leaned down to buckle it in place. The horse huffed and lashed out, and Pidge just barely dodged out of the way of a kick at his thigh. He sputtered. “Hey! What gives?” The horse did not answer. Pidge huffed and fitted the bridal over the horses face, following that with the blind. He pulled himself onto her back, with considerable effort. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath and pulled off the blind. 

Oma’o just started running. She ran fast and hard around the pen, carrying a scared-looking Pidge, hanging on as best as he could. Lance laughed. “Pull on the reins, specs,” he shouted. 

“Trying!” Pidge fumbled with the reins and pulled back, and Oma’o slowed down. Pidge sighed in relief. “See? Not so bad is- Oh shit!” Oma’o started bucking, twisting from side to side and tossing her head. “Shit, shit, shit-”

If it was possible, Lance laughed even harder. “You’ve got a sunfish right there,” he said. “Hold on tight.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Pidge cut himself off with a particularly hard buck. “This is not very ladylike behavior- Shit!” Oma’o hit a particularly tight turn and Pidge got thrown. 

Lance stopped laughing and hopped the fence. He ran in and grabbed the still flailing horse’s bridal. He lead it back to Pidge and pulled him up one handed. “Try again,” he said, “and try to stick to the saddle this time.”

“Yeah.” Pidge started muttering in English. “ _ Yeah, I’ll just do that. Easy. No problem. _ ” He took the reins.

“What’s that?” Lance said.

“Nothing,” Pidge said. “Absolutely nothing.”

Oma’o took off again when Pidge cleared the blind. To his credit, Pidge hung on tighter this time, leaning into the bucks and twists and holding himself down to the unsteady saddle. The horse calmed, stopping abruptly in the middle of the pen. Pidges’ chest heaved, and he risked lifting one hand off the reins to wipe his forehead. “That’s better, ain’t it girl?” Pidge said. The horse twisted its head and bit at Pidge. “Nevermind, bad girl.” He slid off his back and dodged another kick. 

“I’ve got a feeling that’s gonna be a smart one,” Lance said. He nodded at Hunk. “Your turn, bud.” 

Well, time to die. 

Hunk swallowed and untied Mele. She seemed calm enough, still and silent. She didn’t move, but there was something solid and unmovable in her eyes, like the fortitude of a frozen lava flow. Hunk pulled her into the pen and lifted the saddle onto her back. She barely paid him mind as he fastned the buckles and fitted the bridal over her face. 

Lance hummed from behind the fence. Hunk looked at him, silently begging for an explanation, but Lance just shrugged. “Maybe you’ve got an easy one.”

“Please,” Hunk said. “Don’t jinx it.” She didn’t even flinch as he fitted the blind over her eyes and jumped onto her back. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, and pulled the blind.

Mele bucked, hard and powerful at first, and Hunk only focused on keeping his feet planted and hands grasped tight to the rope. She slowed after only a few bucks. Maybe she’d figured out he wasn’t going anywhere. Hunk could only hope. He felt a swell of relief though and sighed. “See girl?” he said. “That’s not so bad.” He lifted one foot to get off, and suddenly the entire world moved under him. 

Mele reared up in one powerful motion, legs pulling upwards and head tossed back. Hunk gripped at the reins as he felt himself slip. She was almost vertical now. It had to be higher than Shiro was, it had to be. 

And then he was going over backwards. 

Hunk hit the ground hard. The air left his lungs with a whoosh. Air. He couldn’t draw air. He tried to roll out of the way; that seemed like the smart thing to do, but he was crushed. The saddle horn was digging hard into his sternum. And a horse was on top of him, heavy and big and pressing him down as firmly as the Naha stone held down the island.

There was yelling. Frantic and hurried. The horse stumbled to its feet and trotted away. Hunk was left lying flat on the ground.Lance appeared next to him, and his hands grasped Hunk’s shoulders as his eyes scanned rapidly over Hunk. “Are you alright?” Lance said, and his voice was sharp and serious. 

“I-” Hunk gasped. The air was coming back, and it burned his lungs like a gulp of salt water. “I- I’m fine.”

Lance felt down Hunk’s arms, eyes darkened to black. “ What hurts?”

Hunk groaned. His chest was on fire, with a single hammering blow pressing down straight over his heart. But it wasn’t broken. He’d been there before, and Hunk knew it wasn’t broken. “My chest, but it’s not-” He pushed himself up straight.

Lance cursed and pushed back on Hunk’s shoulders. “Whoa, big guy. Lie back.” His eyes darted across Hunk’s torso, like he was straining to peer beneath clothing and skin. 

Hunk breathed. It still hurt to breathe, but it was fading. “No, really. I think I’m fine.” Well, that and Hunk’s pride didn;t want to allow for this to go on any longer.

“Whoa, whoa.” Lance shook his head, pressing harder against Hunk’s shoulders. “Now is not the time to be a tough guy, tough guy.”

Tough guy. That’s a first. “It’s not, I- I would know if something’s broken.” Hunk sat up fully, hunching over his bent knees. It ached when he coughed, but not a lethal ache. “I’m actually fine.” 

Lance looked willing to trust that as far as he could throw him. His hands were fixed on Hunk’s biceps, strong and static. “Does anything feel wrong?”

“No, I-” Hunk coughed again. “I’m sore, but nothing’s broken. I’m fine.”

Lance’s eyes were still fixed on Hunk. He sighed. “Shiro,” he barked. “Get the horse.” He turned to Hunk. “Come on, we’re getting you out of here.” He pulled one of Hunk’s arms over his shoulders. “Pidge, help me out.”

There was a new burning in Hunk’s chest. Exacerbation. He sighed. “Guys, I don’t need-” Pidge darted over, the traitor. He wouldn’t even be tall enough to lean on, and they both knew that already. This was an exercise in futility, and Hunk was the frustrated experimental subject. 

Hunk pulled himself to his feet, Lance still bracing himself under Hunk’s arm. Lance felt sturdy somehow, despite the lithe slightness of his frame and his narrow looking shoulders. Lance hefted Hunk’s arm more securely up his shoulders, and Hunk nearly felt his breath catch. Those shoulders were a lot firmer and a lot broader than they looked, under all those layers of cotton cloth. Hunk wondered what they’d look like without a shirt in the way. 

Hunk shook himself and pulled his arm away from Lance’s grip. “I’m fine,” he said. “You don’t need to carry me.”

Lance shot Hunk a look, like he’d just tried to talk his way out of a decapitated limb. He kept one hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Sure.” He scanned over Hunk again, then jerked his head towards the gate of the pen. “Come on.” Hunk followed Lance, with Pidge trailing behind. Lance pushed Hunk to sit back against the fence, and he went back without a fight. Lance knelt down next to him, eyes still darkened and brows still drawn. “Are you sure you’re alright.”

Well, he was as fine as he could be. Having a horse fall on you was not a walk in the park. “I’m sure,” Hunk said.

Pidge knelt down beside Hunk, scanning him over with a critical eye. He looked worried too, the same kind of worry Pidge would usually direct towards an unexpected sailor on the doorstep of the missionaries’ home. “Did you hit your head? Because you need to be careful if you hit your head.”

“I don’t think so,” Hunk said. It didn’t hurt, at least not more than the rest of him did. He rubbed the back of his head. 

“You’re sure?” Lance said. He was still holding Hunk’s shoulder, and the weight was starting to burn. 

Hunk sighed. “As sure as I can be.”

“Uh huh.” Lance turned towards Pidge, not taking his eyes off Hunk. “Pidge, go help out with the horses. Tell them Keith’s up next again.” Pidge shot Hunk a glance, but he pulled himself up and walked slowly back towards the pen. When Pidge was out of earshot, Lance sighed. He swept off his hat and looked up at Hunk, gaze fixed squarely into Hunk’s eyes. “Hunk, that could have killed you.”

Hunk knew he should have been feeling something right now. Panic, relief, fear, maybe even anger. It would be normal, to feel something right now. Something sharp. But he didn’t. All he felt was an icy cold void, circling like an unseen circle current around the base of his ribcage. “Oh,” Hunk said. 

“Yeah.” Lance squeezed Hunk’s shoulder. His gaze was heavy. “I think you should sit out for the rest of the day,” Lance said. “Get some rest. Start recovering.” Hunk had a feeling Lance had done this before. Maybe last time it didn’t end so well. God, those eyes. 

Hunk nodded dumbly. “Yeah, alright.” The meaning of Lance’s words took a minute to penetrate Hunk’s brain, but when they did, Hunk snapped out of his daze. “Wait no,” he said. “No, I’m going to try again- I want to try again.”

“Hunk-” Lance’s voice was stern.

Hunk swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m not going to sit out.”

Lance swore under his breath and shook his head. He set a second hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Hunk, no.” he said. “No, that could- That should have killed you. Do you understand?”

Hunk understood. Oh boy, did he understand. “But it didn’t,” Hunk snapped. Lance’s eyes widened, and Hunk felt his face heat. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Sorry, but I know my limits.” He pressed his hand against Lance’s, still set on his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

Lance sighed. “Shit.” He took his hat off and rubbed at his temple. “Shit, Hunk.” He sighed again. “Just- just sit out for one round, please.” 

Lance’s eyes were almost pleading when he looked back at Hunk. One hand was still planted on Hunk’s shoulder, firm and grounding. With a look like that, Hunk couldn’t say no. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll stay out for a round.”

* * *

Riding continued through the day and on to an orange sundown. Hunk had been allowed back into the rotation after a round and a half. Lance had given him a stern look and a clap on the shoulder before he hopped back in the pen, ribs silently protesting every sudden movement. Lance insisted on holding on to a long lead, looped through the bridal. “Just to be safe,” he had said, with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you taking another dive.”

When night fell and Keith was bucked for the last time, still cursing like it was his first, Lance called for a halt. They lead the horses back into the pen, letting them loose this time, and gathered the humans around the fire pit. Pidge took the initiative to start up a fire with a piece of flint and his neat little penknife. 

Hunk dropped to the ground next to Pidge with a groan. “God bless you.”

Pidge chucked. “My mother has got that covered.” He slumped back, rubbing at his bruised up shoulder with a wince. Across the fire, Shiro hissed as he nursed a set of bruised ribs, and Keith pressed a stray rag to the newly minted cuts on his face. Hunk noted, with a tinge of smug satisfaction, that he seemed to be the least beat up of the greenhorns. Not bad for someone who was almost crushed to death by a horse. 

Lance flopped down on his back at Hunk’s side. He groaned and stretched out his arms. “Hoowee, I’m glad that’s over,” he said. “The first day is always the worst, I’ll tell y’all that.”

“Damn well hope so,” Pidge muttered. 

Hunk chucked. In his best impression of Pidge’s mother, Hunk tsked. “Blasphemy, Pidge.” Pidge stuck his tongue out at him. 

Lance sighed, long and hard. His chest rose and fell with his breaths, pressing up against his coarse overshirt. If Hunk looked just right, he could see the line of Lance’s ribcage, jutting up under the fabric. The shirt had ridden up, and Hunk could just see a sliver of skin, just above the ridge of Lance’s hipbone. Tan, but paler than the parts of Lance that usually showed. Almost soft looking. Hunk really shouldn’t have been looking, should he?

Hunk forced himself to look away. He dug in his bag until he found a distraction. A rough piece of kiawe wood, barely cut into shape. It was a just an idea he had, more than anything. A project. He set about carving it down again. 

Lance pulled himself up to sitting (and his shirt fell back down, Hunk’s traitorous mind noted), and he shot Hunk a grin. “You should’ve seen me, the first time I broke a mustang. The bugger knocked out my tooth. One good kick, and bam.” He flicked at one of his front teeth. 

“Really?” Hunk said. That would hurt really bad. Hunk thought he would have noticed a missing tooth, though. Maybe he just-

Lance smiled, wide and perfect. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “It grew back.” Hunk supposed that it did. Lance’s eyes sparked, twin stars in the growing dusk, and Hunk couldn’t look away. He didn’t know if he wanted to look away. 

Keith scoffed, and Lance broke Hunk’s gaze. “What?” Lance said. 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Liar.”

Lance made an offended noise. “I am affronted, Keith. No lie. My hand to God.” He leaned back. “That first time was a fucker.” He nudged Hunk in the side with a smirk. “First times are always awkward, if ya know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows at Hunk, and suddenly that gaze wasn’t so captivating. 

Hunk groaned and dropped his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me. Mine was the worst.”

Pidge’s lips curled in confusion. “First time? But I thought-” A revelation spread across his face, and Pidge’s ears turned pink. “Oh, right. That. I remember that.”

Lance’s smirk widened, and he turned towards Hunk. “Oh, do you have a story to tell?”

Hunk certainly did have a story. Whether it was a good one or not was another question entirely. He shook his head, a nostalgic smile making itself at home on his lips. “Mine was with this cute fisher’s son. He lived a few houses over and we just-” Hunk chucked. “I couldn’t look him in the eye for weeks after that.” He really couldn’t. They’d pass by each other every day, it seemed. In the market or on the path to the stream, he’d pass by and Hunk would keep his head down and pray to whichever set of gods was listening that the boy wouldn’t bring up, well, any of it. It was awkward and it was ridiculous, and in hindsight it must have been so funny to watch.

Shiro nodded from across the fire. “I know what you mean. My first was with an onnagata in Kyushu.” He smirked. “I couldn’t look them in the eye the next morning. I think they felt sorry for me when they left.”

Keith shuddered. “Yes, morning I saw.” Hunk couldn’t help but laugh at the shell shocked look in Keith’s eyes, evidence of a scene that could never be unseen. Shiro smirked wider, and Keith buried his face in his hands. “No. Never again.”

Pidge scratched his chin, apparently oblivious to Keith’s mild to moderate traumatic flashback. “Onnegatta? What’s that?”

“They’re a certain kind of actor, back in Japan. They dress as women for the Kabuki theater.” Shiro shrugged. “Some even do it off stage. And they do it well, if you know what I mean.” And the smirk was back. 

Keith covered his ears. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. Don’t want to know what you mean. Never wanted to know what you mean.”

Hunk laughed out loud that time, and Pidge laughed too. “That’s a better story than mine,” Pidge said. 

Hunk perked up. “Ooh, I’ve never heard this!” He leaned towards Pidge and rubbed his hands together. “Come on, spill it. I want to know.”

Pidge rolled his eyes. “Well, it was a friend of mine, a while ago. We were at the missionary house when my family was away ‘preaching the Lord’s word.” He said the last part sarcastically, with the kind of false gravitas only associated with true and utter indifference.

Hunk perched his head on his hands. “So, who was the friend?” A thought struck Hunk, and his eyes went wide. “Do I know them?”

Pidge blushed. Not just the tips of his ears or a bit on the cheeks. This one was a full on blush. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well...”

Pidge was acting awkward. Pidge was acting awkward about his first time. His first time with a close friend. Pidge was blushing. Hunk’s jaw dropped. “Wait, no,” he said, “Oh my God, was it-”

“No!” Pidge said, but the bright red blush quickly spreading down his neck betrayed him. 

“It was Na’auao? My sister, Na’auao?”

And just like that, the circle went tense. Shiro’s eyes went wide and his jaw visibly tensed, looking at Hunk like he was planning to commit mass arson. Lance placed a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Hunk,” he said, in the kind of voice you use on a sailor holding a knife. “Buddy, calm down-”

Hunk laughed. “I knew it!” He poked Pidge in the shoulder, a huge grin spreading across his face. He knew there was something there, he just knew it. “I knew you two had a thing! Why didn’t you tell me? You’d be so cute together, we were all talking about it.”

Pidge managed, by some miracle, to turn an even darker shade of red. “Shut up,” Pidge said. “It was only one time. We’re just friends, I swear-”

“You were so cute together though.” Hunk sighed. “I should’ve known. I thought Na’auao was only into girls, but I knew she’d make an exception for you.”

Pidge looked about as red as the sunset, and twice as eager to disappear into the sea. “Can I die now? I think I want to die.”

Hunk started singing in English, a dumb little tune he picked up from Pidge’s sister. Na’auao and Pidge sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G-“

Pidge shoved him, with little effect. “Hunk, shut up!”

Hunk leaned back, a pleased smile still tugging at his eyes. “All I’m saying is I knew it.” Vindication was a sweet reward, after all. 

Shiro, who had been staring at the proceedings like a man watching a brewing fight, blinked. “Well, that was an interesting shovel talk,” he said. He blinked again and tried to set his face into a neutral mask, with little success. 

Hunk shrugged. “I’m happy for her,” he said, “Pidge is a good guy.”

Keith squinted at Hunk. “You are weird.”

Hunk shrugged again and gestured towards the three malihini on the other side of the fire. “Well, I think you all are the weird ones.” Hunk went back to his carving. The malihini’s hangup with all of this, Hunk would never understand. 

Keith began speaking to Shiro, low and calm in their language, and Pidge stood up. “I’m going to go get more firewood,” he said. Oh look at that, the pink was back. “I’ll be right back.” Pidge darted off. It was dark now, and a layer of clouds was starting to descend. 

Lance was looking at Hunk. Not with a cocky smirk and not with sparkling eyes. He looked at him strangely, a cockeyed, sideways thing somewhere between curiosity and fear. He looked at Hunk like a child looked at the fire, or like the ali’i of old looked at a sacrifice to Ku, the god of war. 

“Do you really do that?” Lance’s voice was quiet and low, and a conspiracy was wrapped up in his gaze. “With a man?” His hat was drawn over his brow. More than that, it was shadowing his eyes. Darkened. Too dark to read. Lance wasn’t smiling.

Hunk’s chest tightened in a defensive knot, like a fisherman’s line caught by a shark. He breathed deliberately, in a steady pace that he hoped seemed normal. It wasn’t normal to Lance, he’d forgotten. The haoles were always strange like that. He forgot to watch his tongue. The knot was growing tighter. Hunk gripped his carver tight and tried not to show it. More than that, he tried not to show his disappointment. 

Hunk shrugged in a way he hoped was casual. “Yeah, I have. It’s normal, around here.” He wavered, then set his jaw. “If you have a problem with that-”

“No,” Lance said. “No, I- I just wanted to know.” His voice was still quiet, still low and dark, but that waver made Hunk pause. It made Hunk look up. Lance looked up, and his eyes weren’t darkened any more. They were wide and unsteady in the low light, darting and scared, but still fixated on Hunk, like Hunk was the North Star in an open ocean in a storm. Vulnerable. Lance looked vulnerable. 

Footsteps. Hunk heard heavy steps coming towards them and he turned, just and Pidge dropped an armful of firewood beside him. “You all better appreciate this,” Pidge said. “My arms are killing me.”

Lance’s expression morphed, so fast Hunk could barely register the change. He smile, cocky and confident, and the scared look in his eyes wiped away as easily as a smudge of dirt on a calabash. “Thank you kindly,” he said. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned loud. “Well, I’m turning in for the night.” He picked himself up without another word and ventured to an empty spot on the other side of the fire. He laid back on his arms and tilted his hat over his face, eyes hidden from view. 

Pidge frowned and shot Hunk a meaningful glance. “That was a bit strange. What was his deal?”

Hunk shook his head. “I don’t know.” In truth, he really didn’t. Hunk swallowed down the lump of worry in his throat. It was better than keeping it in his mind. If he did, it might fester. The incoming cloud was gone, replaced with a hot, dry sky above. Hunk stripped off his shirt and balled it up under his head. It looked like it was going to be a hot night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember why I included that conversation at the end there, but it was in my outline. I have all the research notes and everything too. So many research notes. God why. 
> 
> Anyway, pre-contact Hawaiians were generally pretty chill about sex and relationships! I read a fascinating ethnographic study on the matter, linked [here](http://www.hawaii.edu/PCSS/biblio/articles/2000to2004/2004-sexual-behavior-in-pre-contact-hawaii.html) They wrote chants about people's dicks for gods sake. There is only so far I will go for historical accuracy, but it was an interesting read (content warning in the link for, well, a lot. It was originally published in a book called "Pedophilia: Biosocial Dimensions" and there's a subsection on incest. Careful, this subject has sharp edges.)
> 
> The chapter title comes from "Strawberry Roan," a comedic cowboy ballad sung by Marty Robbins.


	6. Punchin' them Long Horn Cattle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance takes the gang out for their first job, and a familiar visitor stops at camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief discussion of animal death.

Days passed by in a rolling repetition of riding, chores, and talks by the fire. The horses were, according to Lance at least, almost ready to ride. They’d moved past just trying to stay on, and Lance walked them through how to teach the horses to start and stop on command, and how to turn with a pull of the bridal. 

Hunk had to admit, they’d made progress. Mele had ditched her rearing tendencies for the most part, once she’d figured out all it would get her was a sharp tug on her bridal. She seemed perfectly happy now to plot along in the pen, paying Hunk about as much mind as a dog would pay a flea. Oma’o was still a bit nippy, twisting her head around on occasion to bite at Pidge, and Pano would sometimes bolt at the slightest noise, running off and refusing despite coaxing, cajoling, and coercion, to let Shiro ride. Pukoko needed a lot of work; the spirit had not left that horse in the least. He bucked and snorted at Keith at every given opportunity, but Keith wasn’t giving up easily. Hunk was starting to understand the premature gray streak in Shiro’s hair. Keeping him alive had to be exhausting. 

They rode the day before, back and forth and not much else along a nearby trail. Riding high up like that, with his feet dangling off the ground and shoulders set back straight, Hunk couldn’t help but feel awed. It felt like power. 

Around mid morning on the fifth day of riding, Lance called them together under a nearby tree. The sun was just high enough for it to be hot, and the still wet ground was steaming them alive. Despite the heat, Lance was outfitted in his malihini clothing. He wore those leather pants again, with his long sleeve shirt buttoned up tight and bandana tied securely around his neck. When he spoke, he spoke bluntly, with the kind of casual mettle of the foreman of a taro patch. “We’re going to catch a steer today,” he said, blunt and obvious as if he’d told them they were going to gather firewood. 

Hunk bit his lip. A horse was one thing, quick and flighty and only really driven to get away from you, but a bull… Bulls were dangerous, worse even than a snared shark. He was warned about the bulls. Ever since he and his sisters showed up on this island, there was one warning the locals had given them: stay away from the bulls. 

“Are you sure?” Hunk asked. “It might be dangerous.”

Shiro nodded, eyes darting sidelong at lance. “Hunk is right,” he said. “We can barely ride our horses. Are we ready to go after a bull?”

Lance shook his head. “Yeah, you’re not. That’s why you aren’t gonna be the ones doing the hunting, I am. I’m gonna rope the bull, and y’all’re gonna watch to see how it’s done.” 

Hunk felt a rush of relief. This terror, at least, was something he could kick down the road a while longer. 

Lance smirked at hunk, a telltale sparkle lighting up his eyes. “Well, that’s half the story. I’m going to catch it, and y’all’re going to carry it down for me.” Hunk groaned, and Lance only laughed. He shooed them towards the supplies. “C’mon, saddle up. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Lance walked them through securing barrels of salt to the horse’s backs. Lance mounted Azul and started up the mountain. They followed behind on foot, pulling their horses along behind them. 

Lance leaned back in his saddle. He began humming a song under his breath. It was foriegn sounding, quick, light and jumpy as a flea on a dog’s back. Hunk sped up, just enough to pull up next to lance. Lance was singing aloud now in his language. His voice was nice,, bright and lilting, but with a rasp sanding the edges coarse. 

Hunk remembered the voices of fishermen when he was young. They chanted, voices tight and strong over the waves at dawn, calling out for their eyes to fly far and wide across the horizons, and for their minds to remain sharp as the ‘io’s wing. Their voices rasped too, worn down by the salt spray and shouts of “huki” over the pounding waves, but they were strained, drawn up in pitch with the style of the chant and waving at the edge of articulation. It was powerful, a cry that could be heard from the depths of the sea to the mythic land of Kahiki somewhere beyond the horizon. 

Lance’s voice was different. It didn’t ring across the sky so much as much as it dwelled through the chest, warm and bright as a summer rain. It did not announce itself boldly, so much as it kindly asked to be let in. 

“You seem happy,” Hunk said. 

Lance’s singing stopped like a wave fading against the shore. He turned to look at Hunk and smiled. “Yeah, I guess I am. We’re headed out to rope a steer,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been a while since I had the chance.”

Hunk blinked. “That’s what has you so happy?”

“Yeah” Lance shrugged with a softer smile, bashful just under the surface and barely hidden. “It’s fun, you know. I missed it.”

Hunk decidedly did not know. “I don’t think I’d miss chasing after a bull.” He said. “Are we talking about the same animal? Giant beast with spikes on its head.”

Lance laughed. “No really,” he said, “I miss it. It’s exciting, going after something that big. It’s a rush.” Lance’s eyes were alight with an eager zeal, the same as a master sledder looking down over a rock slide or a wrestler catching sight of his opponent at Makahiki.

“I can understand that,” Hunk said. “I used to go nalu with my sisters sometimes, of Holualoa bay. That was a rush.”

“See, you get it!” Lance said. “What’s a nalu?”

“Oh, right,” Hunk said. “It’s a game, kind of. It’s a thing we do sometimes, at least. You take this wood board out into the water and ride on the waves again. It’s fun.”

“So you swim out, wait around, then go back in again? Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “You haven’t tried it.” The last time they went, almost a year ago, they hit the tides perfectly. It was a high king tide, on the night of Hok when the moon was as full as a chief’s belly on Makahiki. The had to duck under every other wave to get past the breakers, and when they rode back in again, it felt like surfing the wind. “You need to try it. It’s the best.”

“If you say so,” Lance said. He smirked. “You’ll have to take me out some time. I’ll see how it compares to some gold old fashioned bronc busting.” Hunk was greeted with an image of lance in the waves, stripped down to a malo and eyes sparkling bright as the waves around him. Hunk chose to dismiss that image, even as he swallowed around the sudden heat at the tip of his tongue. 

“We should,” Hunk said. “At least I’ll be better than you at that. I bet if we raced I could kick your ass.”

“Really?” Lance said, with a smirk that made Hunk’s throat go dry. “I’d like to see you try.” 

Lance slowed down as they crested the hill before them. A herd of black cattle, probably a few dozen strong, gathered in the distance. They clustered around the watering holes across the plateau. There was a steer at the head of the herd, a big one with a huge set of black-tipped horns. It seemed to see them, and it turned into the kiawe, with the herd following after. 

Lance whistled. “What I wouldn’t do to get my hands on that herd...” he said, almost under his breath. Hunk raised his eyebrows, and Lance shrugged at him. “But that’s a contest for another day. C’mon.” He spurred Azul across the plains. When they reached the edge of the wood, Lance turned back and clapped. “Alright, listen up,” he said. “Y’all’re going to wait at the edge of the kiawe, over there. Keep the horses steady and watch. I’ll handle it from there. ” He turned Azul back and spurred her into the brush, leaving them standing awkwardly behind.

Hunk pulled Mele towards the brush as instructed. He sent a look back towards Pidge, still breathing hard from the uphill climb. Pidge pulled up next to him and nudged him in the side. “Nervous?” Pige said. 

Hunk smiled and nudged him back. “You wish.”

Pidge snickered. Raised his voice into one directed towards the whole group. “Does anyone have an idea of what to expect? Lance didn’t exactly give us much in the way of detail.”

Hunk shrugged, but it was Shiro who spoke up. “It’s probably the same as the horses. Rope it, pull it in, finish the job.”

Keith snorted. “Forgot a step. Almost die.”

“Hey!” Shiro cuffed the back of Keith’s head. 

Keith looked unrepentant, which was becoming a pretty regular look on Keith. “I’m right.” Hunk really didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he was. 

A shout rang out from the scrub. Hunk snapped to attention, gripping tighter to Mele’s rein and preparing to dodge out of the way. He heard Pukoko rear, and keith cussed, pulling hard down on the reins. A now familiar sound of hoofbeats sounded from the forest. It was getting closer, loud and hard enough that Hunk could feel it in his heels. Where its maker would come out, Hunk had no idea. 

A bull burst of of the brush barely ten paces behind them. It was big. Dangerously big. Jaw droppingly big. Far too big for any reasonable person to be this near. Base instinct flared in Hunk’s mind. He had to run. 

Pidge turned around quickly, and he stumbled, almost tripping over his feet. Hunk had to reach out and grab Oma’o’s lead as a precaution, and even the horses pawed at the ground and whinnied. That thing was too big. 

Lance burst out of the shrug, lasso already out in one hand and yipping like a dog of Hell. He rode around the side of the bull, nimble and fast in all the ways that a charging bull wasn't, and he swung his lasso over his head, shouting out yips and whoops. 

The bull whirled towards Lance. It charged, horns down and heels kicking, and Lance darted away with a sharp “Hya!” The bull hadn’t even come to a halt before Lance was spinning his lasso again. He rode hard towards it, and the bull tried to run out, away from the shrub and on to the plateau. Lance threw the lasso and it landed quick and true around the bulls head. The thing roared. He pulled tight and wrapped his end of the rope around his saddle horn, even as Azul backed up towards the brush. The bull tried to bolt against the lasso, but Azul dug in her heels. Somehow, a horse and rider were holding this beast firm. 

They kept pulling backwards, towards the kiawe and around the sturdy trunk of a tree. Lance kept pulling, and it was cinched closer to the tree with every passing second, until finally, finally, it was trapped, neck tight against the trunk. 

And like that Lance was off like a shot. He leapt off of Azul’s back and ran towards the tree, a short length of rope in hand. The bull bellowed loud as an eruption and thrashed, and Lance jumped back away from erratic lashes that could have broken in his skull. He rushed in again, and he looped around the back of the trunk and tied the bull to the tree with a series of quick twists. The thing fought against the ties, but it seemed to be held firm. It wasn’t until Lance stepped up that Hunk could see that the bull was tied by its horns. 

Lance smiled wide, eyes gleaming in wild triumph. His eyes were alight, and he was smiling that perfect smile again, bright teeth and bright eyes on display for the world to see. And below him, a bull as black as pitch bellowed for its freedom.

He waved back at them, and he shouted, “We’ve got ‘em!” The bull flailed at Lance in a last ditch struggle - even from here Hunk could see the whites of its eyes - and Lance barely dodge out of the way of a kick that could have broken bones. “Shit!” Lance backed up fast, now darkened eyes trained hard and fast on the bull with an intent that could only come from years of hard won experience. When he was out of range, the Lance that Hunk knew snapped back like a flipped switch, eyes bright, limbs loose, and smile cocky. “See?” he said. “It’s not so hard.”

Hunk just stared. He was probably a little slack jawed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not so hard. Not so hard to tie a wild bull to a godforsaken kiawe stump by its horn. Yeah, sure. Not so hard, his left foot. Hunk chose not to voice his disagreement with that statement.

Lance whipped off his hat and smirked again. “So,” he said. “Are y’all gonna help me get this thing down the mountain or what?”

* * *

Lance slaughtered the bull, right there in front of them and still tied to the tree. He butchered it too, cutting meat off the bone with smooth, precise cuts, and he talked them through the process in short, precise phrases. Practiced, like everything else about Lance. 

He handed the meat off to them in strips and instructed them on how to back them in salt. Apparently, or so he said, it would preserve the meat without cooking it. Good for long sea voyages, he said, and Shiro collaborated that claim. A lot better than hardtack. They carried the meat down the mountain in barrels, the remaining carcass left to be picked over by feral dogs and crows. 

Lance was smiling, wide and bright. He sang that same song, the lulling, ringing, happy thing, with a renewed cheer. It was infectious, between his laugh and his smile and the incomprehensible joy in the words of his long, Hunk couldn’t help but smile with him. 

They reached the port by about midday, when the ships were docked secure from the morning before. Lance lead them to a whaler and instructed them to unload the barrels. He talked for a time below decks with a think-skinned whaling captain, one with a well worn coat and a white bearded face that looked like it was carved out of fishbones. Lance came out of the hold with a handful of American money, strange green bills marked with the faces of white men. He waved at them and shouted from the gangplank. “Y’all head back to camp. I’ve gotta deliver this to the ali’i.” Lance grinned at them, and Hunk was more than happy to obey. 

* * *

Cool clouds shaded the sun as they rode up the mountain. The wet season was definitely upon them now, healing the scorched earth and shrouding the land from the harsh rays of the sun. Hunk couldn’t help but feel a certain elation in his chest, a bubbling relief like the breaking of a new spring. What they did today- what Lance did, that was real work. It was backbreaking, sure, and far more punishing than sitting with his sisters and weaving their mats, but it was work. They did it. 

They reached the camp a while later, by which time the clouds had blessedly obscured the sun from view. Pidge slid off of Oma’o’s back and flopped down on the ground with a groan. “Hunk, I’m dead,” Pidge said. “Help me.”

Hunk rolled his eyes, but he dismounted and took Oma’o’s reins in hand. He lead the two horses into the pen, then joined Pidge on the ground with a huff of released breath. That bubbly feeling still sprung true in his chest, and he laughed. 

Pidge shot him a concerned look. “What the Hell got into you?”

Hunk could not stop smiling. “We got a bull,” he said. “Hey, we did it.”

“Well, technically Lance did it,” Pige said. 

“You know what I mean.” Hunk propped himself up on his elbows. “We brought something down the mountain, something worth actual money.” He grinned even wider. “We did it.”

Pidge rolled his eyes. “You’re a dork.” He fell back again and threw an arm over his eyes. Hunk shook himself off and stood. He tracked down his project - almost half done now - and sat back down to carve. 

A while later, Lance appeared over the hill, holding a small bag above his head triumphant. “Hey y’all, guess what?” he crowed. He dropped down to the ground near them and spread his arms wide. “We’re the best damn cattle wranglers on the island.”

“Technically,” Pidge said, still sprawled across the grass. “We’re the only cattle wranglers on the island.”

“Psh, close enough.” Lance fished around in the bag. “The pay for you guys is small this time. The ali’i’s gonna be taking a cut out of our commission for a while for supplies, but I still got a bit for all of y’all.” He flicked a coin to Hunk. “Complements of the King.” Hunk caught it. It was a Spanish half dollar, emblazoned with the Spanish seal and worn smooth and bright from handling. Hunk’s chest swelled as he turned it over. They did it. 

Lance threw the last half dollar at Keith and tossed the bag aside. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t take all the credit.”

“You’re so generous,” Pidge deadpanned. “How can we ever repay you.”

Lance shrugged with a smirk. “Hey,” he said, “I can’t help being this good.” Lance fell back against the grass. He stretched, and Hunk didn’t even notice the slip of skin that exposed. “God, this feels good.”

The coin was heavy in Hunk’s palm, solid and cool as a stone. He smiled as he slipped it securely into his bag. Maybe, just maybe, this crazy gamble would work out after all. 

* * *

For the remainder of the day, they rested. The horses were put away and the supplies were squared off, but other than that they were set free. There wasn’t anything else for them to do, Lance reasoned, so they might as well enjoy the day.

Hunk worked on his project as conversation faded in and out with the lull of a soft tide. Around the middle of the afternoon, he heard hooves on the mountain side. The horses were all away, he knew. It wasn’t any horse that they knew. 

Hunk sat up, setting aside his work, and when he saw who was coming his heart stopped. Oh God, it was Alula’a’alaōpūokalani. She rode straight backed and regal towards them, sitting astride a tall white horse with a garland of flowers draped around its neck. She rode tall and proud, as an ali’i should be. 

Hunk ducked his head down and reflexively cast his eyes away. A chieftess was at his camp. He didn’t even have time to prepare. He didn’t know how he could prepare, if he did. Maybe he would have just ran away. 

Lance stood up, and he smiled wide and confident. He tipped his hat at her. “My lady,” he said. “What brings you up the mountain on this fine day?”

Allura dismounted in a smooth descent. “Greetings, Lance,” she said. “It is a fine day indeed. I came to see what you all have been doing. I have been hearing much about you.” She smiled.

“Only good things, I hope.”

She laughed, as bright and airy as a kestrel’s flight. “I assure you, the word about town has treated you quite kindly. I hear you have caught a bull.”

Lance grinned and tilted his head down. “That we did. Just this morning, in fact. News travels fast here, does it?”

“That it does,” Allura said, with a small laugh in her voice. “Impressive work, I must say. Those bulls are most foul.”

“That they are,” Lance said. He was drawling his syllables out long and twanging. “They’re right about the meanest critters you’ll find.”

Allura gasped. “Oh, how ghastly. Were you scared?”

Lance cocked his head and smiled that cocky smile, the one that made Hunk’s heart do backflips and tied his tongue into knots. Lance flicked back the brim of his hat. “No, ma’am. I’m never scared.”

Hunk’s face heated. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Lance was doing. The way he was speaking made Hunk’s heart race for all of the right reasons and all the wrong ones as well. He was speaking, all carefree and charming and casual, with an ali’i. With Alula’a’alaōpūokalani. It just wasn’t done. It wasn’t proper.

But Allura smiled warmly at Lance. “Then I am glad it is you who is entrusted with their control.” She turned towards their circle on the ground with curious eyes. “Lance, you must introduce me to your men.”

Lance jumped forward with another one of his cocky smiles and bowed. “With pleasure, my lady.” He gestured across the firepit towards kith and shiro. “That strapping, handsome fella over there is Shiro, and the young man next to him is Keith.” 

Allura nodded at them. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Shiro nodded back. “Nice to meet you too, miss,” he said. 

He elbowed Keith subtly, who looked up from the contemplation of his fingernails. Keith jerked his head. “Hi.”

Lance then gestured towards Pidge, now sitting up straight. “The clever looking one with the glasses is Pidge Gunderson. He’s a missionary kid.”

Pidge nodded at her politely. “Good afternoon.”

Allura nodded back. “Gunderson?” she asked, and Pidge nodded a confirmation. “I am familiar with your family.”

Pidge smiled. “Many people are.”

Lance strode over, and to his private horror, clapped Hunk on the shoulder. Hunk jumped, nearly dropping the carving tool in his hands. “And this big guy over here is Hunk,” Lance said.

Hunk scrambled to his feet, though his eyes stayed fixed on an innocuous patch of dirt. _ Don’t look up _ , a voice in the back of his head told him, _ don’t offend _. “Hunakoa, ma’am,” he said. 

Allura’s voice sounded curious. “Hunakoa, you say. Are you by chance Kahue’s brother?”

“I- Yes, ma’am.”

He risked a glance up, and Allura smiled, warm and bright. “Your sister weaves such lovely things for me. She is a real talent. Charmed to make your aquaintance, Hunakoa.” She held out her hand delicately, and Hunk was frozen. (_ Don’t offend the ali’i. Don’t touch the ali’i. Don’t have anything to do with the ali’i. _) He’d dropped his eyes back to that patch of dirt. It really was very interesting. Really. There was no need to confront the ali’i in the room. 

Lance nudged Hunk in the side hard, and Hunk forced himself to look up. He took her hand, as politely and properly as he could, and he shook it. “You too, ma’am.” He knew his voice sounded weak and wavery. 

Allura smiled at him warmly though, and she turned back to Lance. “Well, I must be going,” she said. “I do hope to hear from you again quite soon.”

Lance swept off his hat and gave her another one of those cocky smiles. “I’ll be waiting, princess.” Allura mounted her horse with a last backwards smile and rode towards town again. Lance replaced his hat, and he sat down next to Pidge with a huff. “Allura is some lady, huh?” he said.

“You can say that again,” Pidge said. He, too, was staring off in her direction.

Lance turned. “Hey, do your families know each other?” 

“We’re familiar,” Pidge said. By which, as Hunk knew, he meant ‘of course.’

Lance smiled, lips turning up in a wicked smirk. “I bet you have some dirt on her. She can’t be as perfect as she looks. C’mon, tell me.”

Pidge punched him in the arm. “You wish,” he said, then shrugged. “Her family comes to my family’s church. They used to have the whole front pew reserved, just for themselves. It would be hard to not know them.” 

Lance whistled. “Damn, they’ve gotta be an important family.”

“Well, it’s less of a family now,” Pidge said. “Her and her advisor are the only ones who were in that pew the last time I was at church. I hate to think where the rest of them have gone.” 

Lance winced. “Ooh, yikes. You probably don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered,” Pidge said. “But she’s a good person. One of the best ali’i on the island, actually. I’ve met a lot of bad ali’i.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lance said. He reached over to nudge Hunk. “What’d you think of her, bud?”

Hunk bit his tongue. He shrugged, with what he hoped was an air of honest indifference. “I don’t know enough about her to say,” he said. 

Lance scoffed. ‘Buddy, I’m not sure if this expression translates, but I’m calling bullshit. You recognized her on sight, back at the market. You gotta know something.“

Hunk sighed hard. “Fine, I do. But-” He searched for another excuse. “I shouldn’t talk about someone behind their back. It’s not pono.”

Pidge scoffed even louder than Lance did. “First off, Lance that expression does translate. And second, Hunk that’s bullshit. Talking behind people’s backs has never stopped you from gossiping before. You know something, don’t you?”

Lance gesticulated towards Pidge. “Exactly,” he said. “Why are you being so cagey? Just tell us.”

Hunk exhaled and put down his carving. There was a tension headache building in his temples, and he rubbed at it. This topic didn’t look like it was getting dropped. “It’s just-” Hunk bit his lip. “She’s an ali’i.”

“That’s it?” Lance said. “So what? She seems nice. Why does that matter?”

It felt like explaining air to a fish. “She’s ali’i, that’s it. Maybe she’s a good one, but she’s still an ali’i, and I shouldn’t expect anything good from- No, forget that part.” Hunk grumbled in frustration. “I shouldn’t be friendly with her, alright? It’s- It’s not proper.”

Lance frowned. “She seems nice enough to me.”

“It doesn’t matter if she’s nice,” Hunk said, “it matters that she’s ali’i.”

Lance drew his knees in, up to his chest. He turned fully to face Hunk, studying him. “Maybe she doesn’t care about that stuff. She talked to me twice now, and she seems like a wonderful woman.”

Hunk shook his head. Like air to a fish. “It’s different for you. You’re a foreigner.” Hunk pointed at Pidge. “And you’re a missionary. I’m maka’ainana. She’s my ali’i. It’s different, alright? It’s just different.”

Pidge sucked in a breath. “Oh, right.” At least the frog understands air, even if it can escape it.

Lance’s frown deepened. “That sucks...”

“Yeah, well that’s how it works,” Hunk said. “There are the ali’i, the kahuna, the maka’ainana, and the kauwa. I’m maka’ainana, and nothing can change that.” 

The haoles liked to say that the caste hierarchy died with the kapu system. When the temples burned, so too did inequality in the Sandwich Islands. They thought it was part of the enlightenment of Christianity and the spread of civilization, fixing everything, but Hunakoa knew better. You can call the kings what you like, replace the old Hawaiian titles with proper English ones, but it didn’t matter. It was as meaningful as painting a common pig black with charcoal as a sacrifice to the Gods. Call them chiefs or call the royalty. They’ll still always be ali’i.

Hunk tried for a smile. “At least I’m not kauwa,” he said. “They’ve got it a lot worse.”

Lance went silent. He stared out over the horizon with stormy eyes, and for those moments, he was silent. Finally, he said, “Well, I think that’s stupid.” He sighed and shook his head. “But, I think I can kind of understand. If it was the _esclavista_, where I’m from, I- I’d get it.”

Hunk smiled, though it was a bit weak. “Thanks,” he said. “Allura’s nice, but I just- It’s hard.”

“Yeah, it sounds like it.” Lance clasped Hunk on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty great.” And he smiled, soft and understanding. It was small, barely a turn of the lips, but every ounce of it reached his eyes. Something warm was swelling up in Hunk’s chest. Lance’s hand lingered. It felt good, on Hunk’s shoulder. Better than Hunk wanted to admit. But that smile. Hunk couldn’t resist that smile. 

Pidge cleared his throat between them, and Lance dropped his hand. Pidge said, “So in conclusion, Hunk feels squeamish around ali’i, and we’re a couple of irreverent malihini.” Pidge threw up his hands. “Great. I’m going to go now.” 

And he did. Pidge disappeared over a nearby hill before Hunk had a chance to object. Well, that’s pidge. He picked up his carving again, but he paused. “Thanks, by the way,” he said to Lance. “I think you’re pretty great too.” Hunk ducked his head low over his carving and hoped beyond hope that Lance didn’t notice the red tinge in his cheeks. 

* * *

The evening didn’t so much arrive as it fell in with the incoming mist. Lance groaned as it rolled in and instructed them to clean up before the rain hit, bundling up saddles and covering open barrels of hardtack with canvas. Hunk took a moment to empty out a bucket and set it out somewhere that the rain would fill it, come morning. Rainwater just tasted better than the stream. It was sweeter somehow, Hunk liked it. 

Pidge and Lance had settled near the fire, trying against hope to coax it into a respectable flame. It seemed like those two weren’t the type to enjoy the rain, if their expressions were anything to go by. Keith had gone off to tend the horses somewhere, leaving just Hunk and Shiro unoccupied. It was as good a time as any, but that didn’t make it any less scary. 

Hunk steeled himself. It was just a moment, only a moment of bravery. Dumb, stupid bravery. He just had to walk over there and- oh who was he kidding. Hunk took a deep breath. He counted down in his head - ‘ekolu, ‘eha, ‘elua, ‘ekahi - and walked up to Shiro. 

“Hey,” Hunk said. _ Hey, how stupid did that sound. _ “Could I talk to you? Alone, I mean. For a minute.”

Shiro barely batted an eye. “Sure,” he said. He gestured towards the edge of camp, clearly meant to read as a ‘following you.’ Hunk walked up the ridge near the edge of camp, with Shiro following by his side. He sat at the top, and Shiro sat next to him. Hunk fidgeted with his fingernails and with the heavy wrap of canvas in his lap.

“So um- alright,” Hunk said. “I don’t want to offend you, really, I really don’t. You’re big and strong and- that’s not the point. The point is I don’t want to offend you, but I had this idea-” Hunk was rambling. He was rambling and he knew it, but honestly, it was easier to just keep going than it was to try to stop. “Stop me if this is stupid. Like, I’ve had a lot of stupid ideas, but I thought I might be able to help and-”

Shiro cut him off in a patient voice. “What is it?”

Hunk took a deep breath and unwrapped his project. It was kiawe wood, obviously, hollowed out on one end and carved into an L shape. There was a hook at one end, notched and tightly curved, and a leather strap attached to the other. “It’s an arm” 

Shiro looked at Hunk like he had just held up a fish and said ‘this is a rifle.’ Hunk turned red.

“I mean, it’s not a good arm, or an arm at all if you’re being technical about it. It’s- I noticed you were having some trouble riding- I mean you’ve been riding fine. Great, actually. You’re better than most of us, but that’s only with your good arm.” Hunk was rambling agian. He hoped he was making some sense. “You can’t rope while you’re riding, not if you want to steer. And that’s going to be hard I thought, so I thought this might- Only if you want, that is, I- I just thought i’d try.”

Shiro was still staring, not at Hunk now, but at the carved wooden arm. 

“Sorry,” Hunk said. “Sorry, this was- I’ll just-” Hunk started to stand up.

Shiro stopped him. “Wait,” he said, “did you make this?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Hunk handed it over and Shiro took it. He looked it over with a curious eye. “Huh.” He looked back at Hunk “Thank you, I’ll test it out.” He smiled and clapped Hunk on the back. 

A weight lifted off Hunk’s chest, and he took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said. “Great. Let me know what’s wrong with it.”

“Can do,” Shiro said. He pulled himself to his feet and weighed the arm again in his hand. “We should be getting back to camp. It’s getting late.” He looked back down at Hunk with a raised eyebrow. “Are you coming?”

“Oh yeah, I’m coming.” Shiro slowed until Hunk had caught up, then walked beside him. They made their way back to camp as the night slowly fell. 

* * *

Hunk woke the next morning to another bank of mist. The horizon was dark and the moon held vigil somewhere overhead, just behind the clouds. It was just before dawn. It felt like that in the air, heavy and warm and fleeting, like the hand of a friend slipping off your arm. Hunk stood up as quietly as he could. There was a noise by the horse pen, just the softest jingle of tack and the muffled impact of hooves on soft earth. 

In the pen was Shiro, riding Pano in slow circles around the edge. He turned, and Hunk could see that the arm was strapped on. Shiro saw hunk and smiled. He rode over to Hunk’s side of the fence and nodded a greeting. 

“Morning,” HUnk said, low enough that he hoped it wouldn’t reach camp. “How’s it going?” Closer up, Hunk could see how Shiro was steering. He’d tied a loop in the reins and threaded it onto the hook. 

“Pretty good,” Shiro said. He kicked pano in the sides and steered from right to left with the hood. “The concept works. I just need to practice.” He unhooked himself from the reins and dropped off of Pano’s back. He pulled the arm off, walking towards the fence. “It’s a bit snug, though.”

“Yeah, I thought it might be,” Hunk said. “I couldn’t just come up to you and measure your arm side, could I?”

Shiro chucked. “I wouldn’t have minded, but I see your point.”

“I could try it carve it out more, if you want.”

Shrio’s eyebrows ticked up, but he handed over the arm. “Sure, thanks.” 

Hunk took it, eyes darting off to the side. “Can you stay for a bit? It would be quicker to fix if you could try it on. On the spot feedback, you know.”

“Of course,” Shiro said. He sat down by the fence and began stretching his arm. 

“Great,” Hunk said. “I’ll just, you know, go get my tools.” Hunk made his way back to camp as quietly as he could. He found his carver, hidden under a pile of hardtack, for some reason, and picked his way back to the pen. He sat down next to Shiro, not without a degree of uncertainty. “Which part was it again?”

Shiro pointed to an area around the edge, just below the crook of the elbow. “Around here, and more towards the inside. It’s just a bit tight.”

“Thanks.” Hunk started carving it out in short, think slivers.

Shiro leaned in to watch. “How did you make the hook? It looks solid.”

Hunk shrugged. “I carved it like a fish hook. It seemed like the best way.”

“A fish hook, huh?”

“Yeah, I learned from my father, back when I was a kid.” Hunk blew away the loose shavings and handed the arm back to Shiro. “Give it a try?”

Shiro fitted it back onto his arm. He moved it around with a considering expression. “It’s better,” he said, “but it needs a bit more carved out over here, on the outside.” Hunk took it back and started carving again. “So your father was a fisherman?”

Hunk nodded. “He was, off the shores of Koloa.” Hunk handed the arm back. “Try that.” 

Shiro tried it on again. “It just needs a bit more here.” He pointed to a particular spot on the inside corner, and Hunk took the arm back. “I used to be a fisherman too. Back in Kyushu. Line fishing mostly, for the market.”

Hunk hummed. “My father line fished too.” Or, at least he thought so. His memories were blurred. 

“Small world,” Shiro said. “I’d love to meet him some time. ”

Hunk paused his carving. “He died. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Shiro said. His voice lowered, in what Hunk would always recognize as a condolence. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Hunk shrugged. “I was young. Never knew him that well to begin with.” Other people always made it out as a bigger deal than Hunk did. He was fine, really.

Shiro seemed to relax slightly. “If I may ask, what happened?”

“Leprosy. It took my mom too.” It had taken so much more than that. The reverend preached that sinfulness had befallen their family, and they were cast out. No one dared to care for the children of lepers, after all, so they left. No big deal. None at all. 

“I’m sorry-”

“No need. It was a long time ago, and besides,” he shrugged, “I had my sisters. We turned out fine.” Fine, just fine. 

Hunk held out the arm to Shiro, and he took it without a word. “It’s perfect. Thanks.”

Hunk quirked an eyebrow. “Is it really perfect, or are you just saying that because you feel back for the orphan kid?”

Shrio flinched. “I’m sorry-” He turned back towards Hunk, and relaxed when he saw Hunk’s smile. “It’s actually perfect. Thank you, Hunk.” 

Hunk nodded, a cord of satisfaction stretching around his chest. “Good.” He stood up. The others seemed to be stirring around camp. The mist was clearing as well, dissolving up from the ground and into the dark heavens. Hunk smiled back at Shiro. “Come on, it looks like the day’s starting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my proofreading on a plane ride, so consider this my apology for anything that slipped through the cracks. (Side note, in case you were wondering, "esclavista" means slaver in Spanish.)
> 
> The ancient Hawaiian caste system is a wonderfully messed up thing. There was an entire caste of slaves/outcasts called kauwa, though we know very little about them. It was kapu (forbidden, usually on pain of death) for them to marry members of a higher class, and they were the go-to human sacrifices for a new heiau to Ku, the god of war. Yeah, not so fun to be a kauwa. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from "The Cattle Call," sung by Eddy Arnold.


	7. Whenever You Come 'Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura stops by to discuss politics, and Hunk has a revelation in the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief mentions of sibling incest.

The process of tanning a cowhide, as it turned out, wasn’t that different from stripping hala leaves. You took something to scrape with - a dull knife, an opihi shell, anything of that vague quality - and you dragged it along the surface until the hair came loose. Just like hala leaves, except this was more messy, more tiring, and smelled so, so much worse, 

At least, that was the part of the process that Hunk was trusted with. His arm was going numb. Either that or it was so sore that it gave up on registering pain. It was a decent morning, a bit too warm for Hunk’s tastes, but with a nice breeze coming down the mountains and enough clouds to keep the worst of the sun off. Pidge was working on sewing up some torn cloth with all the skill that can be learned from watching a sister do something they hated second hand. 

Hunk stopped to shake out his arm. “Hey,” he said to Pidge. “Trade off?”

“Please,” Pidge said. He stuck the needle through his sewing, a bit too aggressively for the integrity of the needle. Prepping a hide was hard, they were learning, so they instituted a system of trading off tasks. One person would get too sore or too tired of tanning to continue, or they would get bored or prick their finger one too many times, and they’d switch. It worked, and it kept anyone from getting too murderous. 

Pidge handed over the cloth, sucking on his thumb with a wince. “Good luck,” he said. “I swear to god, this thing is out to get me.” Pidge, unlike his sisters, wasn’t very well schooled in the glories of the thimble. Hunk took the sewing and traded places with Pidge. Pidge rolled out his shoulder - probably still smarting from his last round with the hide - and picked up the scraper. 

Sewing was definitely better than that thing. Hunk liked sewing. 

Keith and Shiro had been assigned to work the horses today. They were leading them around on ropes for reasons Hunk couldn’t fathom, but certainly served some purpose. Lance walked them through the process (“Just don’t let ‘em buck on ya, got it?”) before heading off for his own core: fixing the fence. He was working on strengthening the ties, as far as Hunk could tell. He’d rolled up his sleeves to work on it, and at some point he’d unbuttoned his shirt, just past the ridge of his collarbone. Hunk really shouldn’t let himself dwell on that. He really shouldn’t. 

Lance looked up from his work - tightening up something with enough force to tense up the sinews in his forearms - and he caught Hunk’s eye. He waved and- shit, Hunk was staring. He scrambled to wave back. That’s a normal thing to do right? He should do that. Instead, he pricked himself on the needle with enough force to draw a hearty jewel of blood. Well, that was just great. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Hunk could see Pidge smirking. “Shut up,” he muttered. He went back to his sewing. Maybe if he was lucky, he could pass off the rising blush in his cheeks as a well timed sunburn. 

The sound of hoofbeats came from over the hill. Wonderful, Hunk thought, a distraction. He looked up, and suddenly felt a bit less relieved. Astride her tall, white horse - which Hunk now noticed was a very different breed from theirs - was Allura. She was clad in her usual regalia, though her dress was light blue this time, rather than pink. She wore a lauhala hat (probably Kahue’s work, it was too fine for anyone else in the district) with a feather lei around the brim, and a delicate looking trim of lace around her collar. As usual, she looked splendid. 

Pidge broke into a grin. He cuffed Hunk’s shoulder. “Trade off?” he asked. Hunk did (after only a minute, he wanted to note), and Pidge picked up the sewing again. He didn’t start working, though. He was too busy glancing back at the princess. Hunk dropped his head down, focusing on his work. This was not his business. 

Allura dismounted and approached the camp. She smiled nicely and nodded a greeting. “Pidge, Hunakoa,” she said, “How are you all fairing?”

Pidge smiled at her and tipped his head. “Same as always, princess. What brings you up the mountain?”

“Oh, just getting some fresh air,” she said. She gestured at the ground near Pidge. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” Pidge said. He set aside the sewing and stood to help her to the ground. He sat again, closer to Hunk than to Allura, and picked up the sewing. 

Allura rearranged her skirts with a strange gleam in her eye. “Have you heard the news?” she asked. 

Pidge had begun work on the sewing again (thank God), but he slowed. “No, what news?”

Allura smiled, wide and glinting. “Kamanele has died,” she said, with far too much glee. 

Pidge stopped sewing, and his jaw dropped. “What? No, when?”

Allura squealed. She actually squealed. “Just last week! Wait, wait, that is not even the best part.” She seemed to catch herself in an act of impropriety and cleared her throat. She took out her fan, a pretty lauhala thing that looked like it was edged in European lace. She composed her expression into something more respectably somber, though a glint of excitement never left her eyes. “The rumor is that she was betrothed to the king.”

Pidge covered his mouth and gasped. “Really? Shut up!”

“I shall not!” Allura said. She set aside her fan and leaned towards Pidge. “The high chiefs still want him to be married as soon as possible. The kapu may be gone, but a king can not stay unmarried for long. Especially not our dog of dogs.”

PIdge scoffed at that. “That’s for sure,” he said. “God, who’s he going to marry now?”

“Nahi’ena’ena is popular with the chiefs,” Allura said, “very popular. They may approve of her.”

Pidge scoffed again, this time with a distinct note of incredulity. “His sister? The missionaries would riot.” He shuddered, as if even the image struck him with fear. ”What about Kinau? The missionaries love her.” 

Allura shook her head, eyes wide. “Heavens no! The chiefs would never accept her. She is far too uncompromising with her faith for them.”

Pidge sucked his teeth. “Ooh right. I forgot about that. They do love their alcohol, don’t they? Where’s Kaikilani right now?”

“She may be set to marry, but the king is opposing it.”

Pidge rolled his eyes. “Oh that’s rich. Who else is there?” Allura tapped her fan against her lips, like she was trying to remember something she should have known. She hummed, but she did not answer, seemingly lost in thought. 

“What about Kalama?” Hunk cut in quietly. He snapped his mouth shut hard. He hadn’t even noticed the words coming until they were out and wrecking the place. Going by the sound - or the lack thereof - of silence next to him, he wasn’t lucky enough to go unnoticed. 

“What?” Pidge said, and Hunk had to look up. Pidge looked about as surprised as a fisherman pulling up a rat on his line. Allura held a fan in front of her face, but from above the lace trim, Hunk could still see her eyebrows tick up. Hunk didn’t blame her. He caught even himself off guard. 

Hunk ducked his head down as embarrassment burned hot in his chest. Eyes down, he kept talking. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Kalama. The missionaries like her, as far as I’ve heard. She’s smart, and she loves the land. The old chiefs might like her too. Her father was Naihekukui, and he was always a favorite of the last king. And the fishermen are saying that-” He cut himself off, for real this time. “I’m sorry.”

Allura was looking at him intently. Not impolitely, or with any kind of malice, just closely, like she may peruse an interesting passage of a book. “What have you heard from the fishermen?” she asked. “Please, do tell.”

“It’s nothing, it’s-” Allura nodded at him, fan folded at her side, and Pidge was turned fully towards Hunk, his attention fully on him for the first time since Allura arrived. Hunk continued. “I heard rumors that Kalama and the king have, well, been seeing each other, and-” Hunk cut himself off. “It’s nothing, ma’am.”

Allura examined him, and she touched a curled finger to her lips. A spark was lighting, just behind her eyes. “Hunakoa, what else are the fishermen saying?”

Hunk locked his eyes down. His throat was dry, and he swallowed around sand. “They’re saying he might love her.” Hunk suppressed a wince. Stupid. That had been stupid. Fishers gossip is not for ali’i; he wished he never spoke at all. 

Allura glanced at Pidge with a questioning uptick of her brow. Slowly, and with his teeth worrying at his fingernail, Pidge nodded. “That might work...”

Allura inclined her head. “The king is a passionate man,” she said. “Do you remember his coronation?”

Hunk snorted, and both of those terrifying pairs of eyes snapped back to him. “That gossip reached everybody,” he said with an apologetic wince. “It wasn’t great.”

“Is that so?” Allura said. She rearranged her skirts around her in what Hunk would guess was a careful display of casualness. “If I may, what other gossip have you heard? I would quite like to hear it.” The spark was fully alight in her eyes, though she shielded it with a carefully polite expression. Allura, ali’i aimoku of Kona, was interested in what Hunk had to say. It was easy to get drunk on. 

Hunk shrugged, though a jitter was building up in his chest. “There are rumors that the king’s been traveling with his aikane again.” Palakuma had said as much. On a balmy afternoon, she saw the royal canoe sailing down south, kahili on display and all. And later, when she pulled in by Miloli’i, she had seen Kaomi waiting on sore. The ali’i were subtle, mysterious beings shaded in pano, but the maka’ainana were not stupid. They could put one and two together. 

Pidge’s jaw dropped, scandalized. “Do you think that they’re still… you know, that?” He made a confused gesture that was probably meant to indicate something improper. 

Allura scoffed. The light in her eyes was bright and sparkling as she lifted her fan to her chest. “Of course they are. We are speaking of Kauikeaouli, are we not? When has he ever stayed away from a fetching young man like that?”

Pidge laughed, high pitched and half horrified. “Oh the missionaries won’t like that. Or, you know, that.” Pidge made the gesture again, and Hunk still couldn’t tell for the life of him what it was trying to imply. He didn’t think that Pidge quite knew the mechanics of what he was referring to. 

Allura covered her mouth. “ _ I _ would, with either of them.” She fanned herself and averted her eyes. “Or both. They are not difficult men to behold.” 

Hunk slapped his hand over his mouth to cover a grin. The amount of fodder that would come from that royal scandal could fuel the rumor mill for months. Well, it’s not like she had bad taste. They were a handsome pair of men. 

“Oh my God!” Pidge squeaked. Allura broke, and she began laughing, high and girlish. Pidge’s hands flew up to smother his laughter, and Hunk had to work hard to hide his own. 

Of course, that was when Lance decided to show up. He strode towards them, all giggling like gossiping girls behind their hands, and waved. “Welina, y’all. I’m heading-” He paused. “Did I miss something?” He scanned them with a puzzled kind of look, between Allura, fan shading her face with a twinkle of restrained glee in her eyes, and Pidge, trying to pass off his smirking as a persistent cough. “Seriously, what’s so funny?”

Allura cleared her throat primly, as if she had not implied a ménage à trois moments before. “Well, lance, we were merely-” She caught Pidges eye and had to stop to stifle a giggle, fanning herself even faster with her fan. 

Hunk exercised all of the restraint he had to avoid rolling his eyes. He put on the most earnest smile he had in his arsenal and looked up at Lance. “Politics. We were talking about politics.” The giggling behind him started afresh. 

Lance blinked. “You know what? I just decided I don’t want to know.” He snapped his fingers at Hunk. “Hunk, you’re coming with me. We’re gonna go rope us another steer.” Hunk nodded and began cleaning up the hide. There wasn’t much to clean up; not much work had been done since a certain lady had shown up. 

Allura sighed and tucked her fan away. “Well, I must take my leave,” she said. She held up a hand, and Lance took it, helping her to her feet. She brushed off her skirts, then glanced back to Hunk and nodded. “Thank you, Hunakoa. I have much enjoyed our discussion. It was...” Her eyes darted between Pidge and Hunk conspiratorially, then she smiled, all polite and proper. “Enlightening.” 

Hunk bowed his head. “I did as well, ma’am,” he said. 

Allura waved her hand. “Oh please, call me Allura.” She smiled again and turned. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She started towards her horse, and Lance jerked his chin at Hunk, turning towards the pens. Hunk had to jog to catch up behind Lance. 

Lance slowed his pace. He smiled and elbowed Hunk. “See? I told ya she’d be nice.”

Lance was somewhat right, Hunk had to admit. The princess had acted, well, human. Much more human than Hunk had given her credit for. “Yeah, she’s nice,” he said. “She’s not the kind of ali’i I expected.”

Lance bumped his shoulder, smiling soft and tender. “I told you so. C’mon, mount up.” 

Hunk got on Mele, and they started riding towards the mountains. Lance stretched, rolling out his shoulders with a satisfied groan. He tipped his head up towards the sky and sighed. The line of his neck was a long curve, lithe and sinewy and interrupted only by the bump of an Adam’s apple. A few moments later, he straightened again, and Hunk tore his eyes away. “What were you guys actually talking about?” Lance asked. “It sounded like fun, from what I heard.”

“I told you, politics,” Hunk said. 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Very funny.”

“No really, some drama happened at court. The king’s betrothed died recently, and we were talking about who he might end up marrying.” Hunk shook his head. “You don’t want to know the details.”

Both of Lance’s eyebrows raised this time. “No kidding! C’mon, tell me.”

Hunk sighed and looked up towards the sky. “Well,” he said, “the first option is his sister-” 

Lance went red. You could hardly see it, underneath the sun damage and scar tissue, but he was definitely going red. “Nevermind,” Lance said, half an octave higher than he probably intended. “I don't want to know.”

It was Hunk’s turn to smirk. He hadn’t seen Lance embarrassed before. He was always so cool and unfazed, always ready to roll with the punches and come up smiling. Now, Lance definitely looked fazed. He fidgeted with the brim of his hat, and his eyes were fixed firmly on the ground ahead. Hunk liked it. 

“Told you so,” Hunk said. 

Lance cleared his throat. “Is that normal around-”

“Oh God no.” Hunk scrunched up his nose. “Just the ali’i do that kind of thing. They’re all about keeping the mana in the family line.”

Lance sighed. “Oh, alright. Thanks for the education, bud.” He shook his head. “Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any stranger...” Lance trailed off. There were implications there, Hunk knew, in that unfinished sentence. He preferred not to acknowledge them though. They sounded like they could be unpleasant ones. So Hunk stayed quiet, and Lance did the same. The mountain was never loud, not like the beach or the town square. It was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that still rang loud. Hunk never liked that kind of quiet. 

Hunk cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan?” he said. 

Lance gestured up the mountain. “Same as last time, for the most part. Catch a steer, bring ‘em down. We’re gonna try drag ‘em down by camp this time and then slaughter ‘em there. Easier on the horses, that way.”

Hunk nodded. “So we’re just going to keep catching them like this?” Hunk asked. “One by one?” The ride to the top was a rocky one, and come the dry season it would be hot, too. No trees, no cover, and no wind. Not fun.

“For now, yeah,” Lance said. “That’s what we’ve got.”

It seemed like an inefficient way to live life, it you asked Hunk. “Is this how you did things, back where you’re from?” Hunk said. 

Lance sighed and shook his head. “Nah, never like this. We had captive herds in California. They were mean, no lie, but we had ‘em under control.” He gestured at the lasso hanging from his hip. “We only had to do this kind of thing when one got away.” He sighed again. “These are wild though. I’d have to tame ‘em to get a herd like that, and catching enough would take a damn long while.” He shrugged. “So we’re doing it like this for now.”

Hunk frowned. “There has to be a better way, right?”

Lance shrugged again. “I’ll tell you when I think of it. Promise.” He stood upright in his stirrups. “Look sharp. We’re here.”

A better way… Hunk snapped to attention. A field of cattle stretched on ahead, clustered around the rain-filled watering holes gifted by the wet season. Going off of last time, it would take until mid afternoon to take bring one down. That was a long time to ride, and his legs were already starting to ache. Hunk shook himself out of it, and he set his eyes ahead on catching another bull. 

* * *

They dragged the bull, alive this time, down the mountain. It fought them, of course, but it didn’t fight any worse than Mele did, with its back hooves kicking occasionally and horns tossed low. Even so, with two lasso around its neck and two horses pulling it along, they didn’t have much of a problem bringing it in. 

A moderate walk away from camp, they stopped to butcher the beast. Lance killed it with the long, straight-bladed knife he kept tucked into the back on his belt. They worked without speaking, Hunk taking the meat from lance and packing it in salt. When Lance deemed the carcass picked clean, he took out a scrap of cloth from his pocket and began cleaning his knife. 

It was a beautiful knife Hunk saw, now that it wasn’t flashing quick and efficient through tough meat. Its hilt was intricately embellished, like the silverware Pidge’s mother only brought out on special occasions. Hunk didn’t know much about metal work, but it was still evident that it was well crafted, with deep grooves and clean lines raised in floral patterns. One embossment looked almost like a bird, though Hunk had to squint to see its edges. 

Lance flicked the knife and grinned at Hunk. “Like what you see?” he said. 

Hunk pulled his eyes away. “That’s a nice knife,” he said. 

“Reckon so,” Lance said. He adjusted his grip and tilted the knife so the light caught on the exposed hilt. “It’s a beauty.”

What do you know, it was a bird. Hunk leaned in closer to look, tracing the lines of vines with his eyes and trying to identify any of the flowers. “Where’d you get it?”

“I knew this gaucho in Guyana, it’s kind of a funny story. He was a kind of mountain man, you know. He was a hell of a guy, could scare off a bandit with a glare.” Lance smiled with a proud kind of look. ”He taught me how to ride. If he could’ve lived on his horse, he would’ve done it, I’ll tell ya that. He taught me how to fight with this thing too.” He readjusted his grip into something steadier. “You wrap your poncho around your other arm and use it as a shield. That lesson got me out of a couple tight spots, lemme tell ya.”

Hunk whistled. “Sounds like a scary guy.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Scariest part of my life, riding with him. And this,” he held up the knife “was his lucky charm.”

“Damn,” Hunk said. “And he just gave it to you?”

Lance paused. “No, he died.” He wiped the blade of the knife briskly and sheathed it. “Eh, shit happens.” 

A stone dropped on Hunk’s ribcage. “Oh, sorry.” 

Lance just shook his head. “Shit happens.” He shrugged in a casual dismissal, but a hardened darkness lingered in his eyes. Not sadness or grief, Hunk could spot those on a moonless night. That would imply vulnerability, or some kind of softness. Lance’s eyes were just hard. 

Hunk searched for some way to look away from Lance. The ground was too obvious, but straight ahead would look awkward. He settled on looking up at the sky. It was growing overcast - the wet season was coming on hard this year - and it looked like it would rain soon. He hoped it would be a good one. The rain would be nice, when it came, flushing the steams out clear and sweet and filling up the reservoirs and water holes in the mountains. The cattle had to like those, when there was water. In fact…

“The cattle spend a lot of time at the watering holes,” Hunk said. “On on the plateau, that is.”

Lance hummed. “I saw. Why?”

“Maybe we could try to catch them there, start a herd like you had back in California.”

Lance glanced over towards Hunk. “On horses? The cattle’d bolt. We’d be lucky to snare four or five before they learned to keep away from the watering holes.”

Hunk felt a tinge of embarrassment. That had been happening a lot lately, around Lance. “Oh, nevermind.” It was starting to rain. A light rain so close to a mist that Lance didn’t seem to notice. 

Lance shifted and scratched under the brim of his hat. If Hunk didn’t know better, he’d say that Lance looked like he was feeling guilty. “Maybe you could make some kind of trap. Don’t know how, but you might.”

Hunk shrugged. “I dunno either. Did you have traps like that, back in California?”

“Nah,” Lance said. “Not for that many head of cattle. And not if you wanted them alive by the end, at least.” Hunk hummed his curiosity, and Lance shrugged. “Drive ‘em off a cliff. You’ll get plenty fresh meat, but not much in the way of living steers.”

Hunk chuckled. “I don’t think that would work.”

“Sharp man. Dead cows don’t herd well.” Lance sighed. “You know, there were these old coyote traps I remember. Fun as hell to make. You throw some gristle and guts in a wicker pen on a hot day, really stink up the place. The coyote comes by for a hot lunch and then bam, you close the gate with a rope.” He mimed pulling on rope. “Then ya got yourself a fresh coyote. No idea what we were planning to do with them, we’re lucky no one got munched.”

A spark of an idea was forming in Hunk’s mind. “What if...” Hunk hummed. “Hold on, maybe I can draw it.” Hunk scuffed the dirt in front of them flat. He began doodling in the dirt with a nearby stick, a circle surrounding another circle, with opening scuffed into the outer ring. “What if we tried to scale that up. We could build fences like the pen back at camp around the watering holes and use them as bait. Then when they’re all in, we close the gates.” He paused. “Or would they be too scared of the fences.”

Lance leaned over to examine Hunk’s drawing. He scratched his head, just under the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Maybe. Cattle don’t like going near things they don’t know, not if they don’t have a reason. They’d have to want to go near ‘em-” A spark lit up in Lance’s eyes. “Hunk, when’s the dry season ‘round here.”

“A few months from now.” Excitement was bubbling in Hunk’s chest, and he began bouncing his leg. “Half the watering holes are going to dry up by then. If we picked the right one-”

Lance nodded. “They won’t have anywhere else to go for water..”

“They’d have to go inside the fences then-” 

“And they’d stick around at night if it's dry. We could sneak in late at night-”

“Yeah, and then-”

“And then we close the gates.” Lance practically shouted, eyes bright and smile wide. It wasn’t the cocky smile or the flirty smile or the perfect smile. He was smiling a real, genuine smile, uneven and wide and crinkling up the worn out crow’s feet around his eyes. It was happy and crooked and honest and real, and it made Hunk’s heart swell and melt all at once. Hunk would do anything to keep that smile around. 

Lance laughed. “Hunk, you’re a genius!” and hugged him.

Hunk wrapped his arms around Lance on instinct, before he even registered that Lance had moved. He leaned forward slightly to steady them, and he felt Lance’s knee slip sideways to adjust. Hunk had been in a lot of hugs over the years. He had seven sisters, more than a couple of friends, and even one or two exes in his past. He knew what hugs were like, but this one, with Lance off balance and hard in his arms, it felt off. Lance’s arms shifted against Hunk’s back like he didn’t know where to rest them, and his touch was too hard and too light all at once. He felt gangly and confused in a way he almost never was. It felt like Lance hadn’t hugged anyone in a long, long time. 

Hunk pulled him tighter, and he heard Lance draw in a quiet gasp. 

As soon as it began, it ended. Lance slapped Hunk’s back briskly and pulled away with a cough. When he spoke, his voice was pitched deeper than usual, fiddling with the brim of his hat between his fingers. “We should tell the team,” he said. “See what they think, y’know.”

Hunk didn’t hear him, not at first. His mind and body were still imprinted with the feeling of Lance’s body against his, hard with bone and muscle and sinew and with long, strong hands wrapped around his back. It felt… Hunk didn’t know how to describe it, but it felt damn good. Not like his sisters or Pidge or that boy he knew, way back when he was young. It felt different than that, and it felt amazing

Lance was probably staring by now. Hunk was probably staring too. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Hunk said.

Lance smiled again, and dammit, it was that genuine smile, warm and burning and peaceful and perfectly imperfect. Lance was smiling at Hunk- he was smiling  _ for _ Hunk, and something hurtling towards Hunk’s chest finally made impact. Those eyes sparkled in the low light, bright and sharp and happy, and the rain was falling on Lance’s eyelashes and sparkling against his freckled cheeks, and he was smiling. God, he was smiling.

Hunk would do anything for that smile. 

Hunk’s chest was burning with something risky and dangerous, like a walk along the edge of a cliff. Like ducking under a wave too large to handle and coming up gasping. Like leaning off the top of a palm tree just to feel the wind. Risky and exhilarating and dangerous and gods, that smile. The thing hurtling towards Hunk’s chest made impact, the dust cleared, and a crater took form. His chest was burning hot and exposed, and he could not tear his eyes away from that smile. 

It was there that night, in the cool, softly falling summer rain, looking deep into Lance’s eyes, and sitting next to a Goddamn bull carcass, that Hunk realized how quickly he had fallen for this man. 

Oh shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That hug wasn't in the original draft, but then when I was writing it just kind of happened so now I'm keeping it. Hunk is screwed. 
> 
> Lance's knife is a facón, a kind of fighting knife used by gauchos in South America. They look like giant kitchen knives. The surviving examples are quite prettily made, though commonly used ones were probably plainer. Also, Hawaiian politics in the 1830's was a goddamn soap opera. And I didn't even get into the "Age of Kaomi" as missionaries called it, which is Kamehameha IIIs moe aikane Kaomi (aka male concubine) had a disproportionate influence on the monarchy, if you know what I mean. King Kamehameha III was a bi disaster. 
> 
> (And yeah, royal incest was a thing. It's an awkward thing to talk about, but it was a thing. Children of full blooded siblings were seen as sacred because of the concentration of mana, or spiritual power. Missionaries didn't exactly like that.)
> 
> The chapter title comes from "Whenever You Come Around" by Vince Gill, a classic country artist. A frequently repeated line in the song is "And when you smile the world turns upside down, whenever you come around." Hunk is screwed.


	8. Fit as a Fiddle and Ready for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk considers his situation, and Pidge decides to share a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for content warnings.

Hunk woke up the next morning with an ache in his head and a sinking feeling in his chest. He fell for Lance. Of all people,  _ Lance.  _ Lance, the cocky vaquero with dodgy cooking skills and an even dodgier past. Lance, who carried a silver-handled fighting knife in his belt and asked whalers about their battle scars with the same kind of conversational carelessness a sane person would give to a new hat. Lance, who flirted with an ali’i as easy as breathing and wrestled cattle like he had no reason to fear death. Lance, with a rough voice that sang like a summer rain and sparkling eyes like a calm sea. 

He fell for Lance. Reckless, bold, wonderful Lance. 

Hunk dropped his head back and groaned. This was not something he wanted to deal with this early in the morning. Or in the afternoon for that matter. Or maybe never. Never sounded like a good option. 

But life didn’t wait for romantic revelations. Hunk got up and went about his morning chores with all the vigor of a kawa drunk poi dog. He cleared out the fire pit (coals still warm, like Lance’s hands), he walked to the stream (bubbling smooth and easy, like Lance’s laugh), and stopped at the horses’ pen to set down a few buckets of water (sparkling in the morning light, like Lance’s eyes). 

Hunk shook himself out of his thoughts (the line of Lance’s collarbone, the flex of sinew in his neck) for what was probably the third time this morning, just in time to barely dodge running head first into Shiro. 

Shiro caught Hunk’s shoulder. “Whoa, hey,” he said. “Is something up? You seem distracted.”

“Huh?” Hunk shook himself harder. “Yeah, no, nothing’s up. I’m just...” Shiro’s hand was heavy and broad on Hunk’s shoulder. Not at all like Lance. “I’m just thinking.”

Shiro looked Hunk up and down. “Sure, if you say so...”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “Great. I’m gonna…” Hunk started walking backwards towards the stream. Shiro gave him an odd look as Hunk waved, still walking backwards and slowly regretting his choice to do so more and more. Hunk almost tripped over a root. He turned and walked towards the stream correctly. It wasn’t like there was even anything to do down there. Not actually. It’s just- damn, Hunk needed some time to think. 

This thing he had for Lance… Hunk decided to call it a crush. It was easier that way, less pressure when it was just a crush. This crush was not something he wanted to deal with. It was a very inconvenient crush. It was one thing to fawn over some far away kahuna’s son or a stranger in the town square. Hunk was used to that, and he had spent many a night daydreaming about nonexistent brushes and sunny days spent with someone he’d never met. It was distant that way. They were unreachable, and it was easy to enjoy the feelings for the flight of fancy that it was before letting it fade away like footprints on the beach. 

But Lance? Lance was too close. Lance was his friend, and more that that, he was functionally Hunk’s boss. Hunk couldn’t avoid that, and he could never indulge it, could never think of letting that dwell. Never, not when Lance was there sun up to sun down and beyond that through the night and on to the next day. 

And even if Lance did feel the same (which was a fat chance), Hunk didn’t want to risk finding out. He couldn’t ruin this, not his friendship and not his job. He couldn’t take that risk, just for the abstract hope of seeing his feelings returned. It was a very inconvenient crush. 

(And Lance was skittish. He flinched at the mention of a moe aikane, eyes dancing off to the side and face coloring at the very concept. Skittish and ill at ease, like the missionaries who called it a sin. Hunk chose not to think about that problem, even as it pricked at his chest and closed off his throat with burning twine. It was one problem of many, and it had particularly sharp edges.)

Hunk searched for a solution in the rational sides of his mind, but through the tangled mess of anxieties that made themselves at home, he could only conclude that he was well and truly screwed. He pulled himself up and wandered back to camp. Hunk dropped his head against a fence post and groaned. This was really inconvenient. Screw this. 

“Hey bud.” Hunk groaned internally and looked up to the voice next to him. Lance leaned over the fence, chewing idly on a sprig of grass. “Nice morning, ain’t it?” Lance said.

Hunk glanced up at the sky. It was overcast, but securely so. At least it had the courtesy to be consistent. “Yeah, I guess it is,” Hunk said. “What’s up?”

Lance took the grass out from between his teeth. “Have you thought any more about that watering hole idea of yours?” he asked. “I’ve been thinking, and I’d reckon the concept has legs.”

Hunk shrugged. “Not too much. The important part would be choosing the right place. If we get that wrong...”

“It’s all a waste of time,” Lance said. “I was thinking that too. Why don’t you take Pidge out and start scouting the plateau? I’ll hang back here and get workin’ on the gate designs.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk said, but Lance had a strange look in his eyes, brows furrowed like he was sizing up a steer that Hunk couldn’t see.

Lance slapped Hunk’s shoulder, brusque and quick. “Great,” he said, and like that he was gone, disappeared in the direction of something more important he probably had to do. 

Hunk did the only thing he could do, given the situation, he did what he was told. He tracked down Pidge sitting by the fire, splitting firewood into kindling with his pocket knife. Hunk made a point to scuff his feet against the dirt, and Pidge looked up. “Hey, Lance wants us to go scout in the mountains,” Hunk said. 

Pidge closed his pen knife and pushed himself up. “Yeah, sure. What for?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Hunk said. He led the way to the horses, and they saddled up. 

“So,” Pidge said, “What are we looking for?”

“Lance had an idea. He wants us to go take a look at the watering holes on the plateau.”

“Do you know what he’s thinking?”

“Something about putting up fences,” Hunk said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Well that clears things up. Can he be any more cryptic?”

“I guess not,” Hunk said. “Still think he’s scary?”

Pidge rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, he’s absolutely terrifying. Oh, you and Lance caught another bull, right?”

Hunk scoffed. “I had nothing to do with it,” he said. “Lance caught a bull, I provided moral support.”

“Obviously, you’re a big softie,” Pidge said. “I’m just saying, the pace is picking up.”

“Yeah, two bulls in a week? It’s been going well.”

“It’s a good job,” Pidge said. “Hard, but good.”

“That’s for sure.” Hunk sighed. “My sisters haven’t liked me being away though.” He looked sidelong towards Pidge for a reaction.

Pidge shrugged noncommittally, but his shoulders still seemed stiff. “I can imagine that.” His eyes didn’t leave the horizon. Not like he was looking at something, but like he was trying to look away. This kind of deflection was familiar. Pidge had done this to Hunk before, sitting around campfires and in a sunny town square, dust biting at his turned down eyes and collar rolled up high and tight. 

Hunk tried for casual, rolling back his shoulders and fixing his eyes on the mountains ahead of them. Maybe Pidge found some security, focusing on a distance that couldn’t affect him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s been happening with your family?” Hunk asked. “I know it’s not my business, but it seems like something’s off.” Hunk glanced over, but Pidge still looked on straight ahead. 

Pidge set his jaw. His breath was almost bated, and he sat straight backed and stiff as a doorpost. “It’s nothing,” he said, in a voice that said it was definitely not nothing. “Nothing happened.”

It definitely wasn’t nothing. Whatever this was, it was way more than nothing. Hunk needed to tread carefully, and he worked to not let the creeping apprehension come through on his face. “Uh, Pidge?” he said. “I kind of doubt that.”

PIdge was still staring straight ahead. “What makes you say that?”

Hunk picked his words like he picked his next move in konane, carefully and with an edged awareness of how many ways they could lead him wrong. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. And it didn’t, not at all. The missionaries didn’t leave their own. It just didn’t happen, not for money or the will of the ali’i. For them to just let Pidge go, to go be a ruffian in the mountains with maka’ainana and malihini, it was unusual, to say the least. Something was wrong with the Gundersons. Hunk didn’t say any of that though. Instead he shrugged. “Missionaries have it good around here. I would’ve thought you’d be lined up to take over the congregation someday. That’s a good job, compared to this.”

Pidge shrugged, jaw still tight. “There are other reverends in Kona.”

“Yeah, but still,” Hunk said. “I know it’s not my business, but still. Even if there was another reverend, it doesn’t make sense for your folks to just let you go. My sisters hate it, and I can’t imagine your mother feeling different. With something as risky as this, especially. Sorry to pry, but did something happen?”

Pidge grimaced. “Hunk.... It’s just-” He shook his head and sighed. “It’s complicated, alright? I don’t want to talk about it.” That grimace didn’t look like annoyance. In the twitch of his upper lip and the tiredness in his eyes, it looked like pain. 

“If you say so,” Hunk said. Mele plodded on beneath him, steady in all of the ways he wasn’t, not with an answer like that. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. “Hey, Pidge?”

“Hmm?” Pidge barely turned his head when Hunk called his name. 

“If you want to, you can always come stay with us in town. My sisters love you, you know. They’d be more than happy to have you around.” Hunk chuckled and tried for an injection of levity. “Hey, we’d finally have enough guys in the house to justify a men’s eating circle. Your folks got here after the kapu, but let me tell you, it still feels weird to eat with the girls.”

Pidge smiled, but he smiled weakly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll do that.” Finally, he looked down into the white-gray mane twisting around the bridal. He went silent, a kind of silence that somehow felt quieter than if he wasn’t there at all. Silent as a worried mother, or silent as a hen at sunrise. 

It was brighter now. The clouds had parted above in just enough of a sliver to expose the full force of the sun. It cast a glancing brightness on the ground before them, with the kind of sharp shadows that heralded a lahaina noon. A ride rose ahead of them, sheer enough to cast a shadow below.

Pidge pulled Oma’o to a walk. “Hey,” Pidge said, in a voice that sounded like a leap over a crevice. “Can I tell you something?” 

Pidge was looking down now, eyes wandering off and lip held tight between his teeth. One searching for an escape route, and one keeping him pinned in place, at least for now. He looked like he was ready to run.

Hunk slowed Mele, and uncertainty burrowed deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “What is it?”

Pidge pulled Oma’o to a stop. He turned full on towards Hunk, and his eyes were drawn stern and decided. At least, that is how they’d look to anyone else. Anyone who didn’t know Pidge. Hunk knew what Pidge looked like scared, and through the fractal cracks in that look, he could see the carefully guarded dust of fear. “You can’t tell anyone,” Pidge said. “Alright? I’m serious, I don’t want you talking.”

“I won't,” Hunk said, and his mind began to race. 

“Not even your sisters. I mean it, don’t tell anyone.”

That hit like a dropped stone. This was serious. “I won’t, I promise.”

Pidge took a deep breath, and his eyes closed on the exhale. “Alright.” He set his jaw, and he started talking. “I don’t know what to do with this, alright? Really, I don’t know what to do. Maybe it’ll just go away eventually and we can forget this happened but- Shit, if this is too weird for you just forget it anyway. God, please forget it-” Pidge cut himself off and took another long, slow breath. 

Hunk said nothing, with care and purpose behind it. The uncertainty in his chest was growing though, and it was starting to sprout thorns.

Pidge let out his breath and said “I think I’m a girl.”

They pulled to a halt at some point, still high on horseback. The sun was hot now, hard and hot as an iron on the back of Hunk’s neck, but he didn’t move to shade it. He didn’t move to do anything. Pidge was hunched in, barely even glancing towards Hunk. Decided, but scared. As gently as he could, Hunk nodded. “Go on,” he said. 

Pidge breathed again, and it was shakier this time, “I feel like a girl.” Pidge’s eyes were shut hard as the hatches on a sailing ship going into a storm. “I’ve felt that way for a while now. Like- I just never told anyone, not-” Pidge was on a roll now, hands clenched over the reins and pressing down to the saddle hard. “I never told anyone, not like this. I thought it might go away, when I came up here. When I got away from my damn family.”

PIdge laughed and plucked hard at a buttoned cuff. “I always hated wearing those missionary clothes, you know. They’re always so hot and stuffy, I thought it was just that, maybe. Maybe I was just sick of looking like a damn doll. I thought maybe if I got away from all of that, and I got away from my family, I wouldn’t feel- I wouldn’t be like this, but I left and now-” Pidge shook at the loose fitted work clothes and sighed hard. “It’s still here.” Pidge breathed in again, and the breatch came out even more shaky than before. Pidge’s mouth set in a defiant line. “I’m a girl.” 

She looked up at Hunk, eyes defiant as a thunderstorm on the horizon, bright with unshed tears and scared. God, she looked so scared. Her shoulders were locked in a tight line and her knuckles gritted white around the reins. She looked up at Hunk, and she jutted her chin out, eyes watery and scared and defiant. “So,” she said, “What do you have to say to that?”

Hunk’s mind felt bogged down in mud. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something, anything, and it hung open for a moment before he realized he didn’t have any response to give. He closed it again. The defiance in Pidge’s eyes was leaking, and lingering fear began to seep through the cracks in the hull. Afraid. Unsure. Like a poi dog eyeing up an approaching stranger. She looked like she was ready to run. 

Hunk scrambled for something, anything to say. “Your family,” he said, “is that what...”

“No- Yes- I don’t know.” Pidge sighed and clasped her fingers behind the back of her neck. “Maybe they noticed something off, or they felt something but- I don’t know.”

Hunk’s mind was only halfway out of the mud, but halfway was a start. He stalled. Pidge breathed again. Moments ticked past, and the sun only grew hotter above them. Words. Words weren’t working. Hunk blinked down at his hands. 

Hunk grabbed the reins and steered Mele up next to Oma’o, as close as he could manage. He reached over and placed a hand on Pidge’s shoulder. There was a substantial gap between the horses, even as close as he could get them, and Hunk had to lean awkwardly off of Mele’s side to reach. He grabbed the saddle horn with his other hand. Hopefully he’d stay on, at least long enough for what he needed to say. He didn’t know what he needed to say. 

Hunk took a breath. He’d need it. “Pidge, you’re my friend. I’ve known you since we were kids, and we’re friends, and… and…” The words weren’t coming. They were all knotted up somewhere, just out of the reach of his grasping. The words weren’t coming, but he had to try. “You’re a good person, Pidge. You never take anyone’s shit, you’re smart as all Hell, and you work hard as anyone I know, and I know my sister’s love you and-” Pidge was eyeing him warily. Hunk’s hand was sweating on the saddle horn and the sun was hot. God, it was hot. “This isn’t working, is it?”

Mele shifted under Hunk. A swoop rushed through Hunk’s chest and he had to throw an arm out for balance, nearly clocking Pidge in the back. Hunk groaned. “Alright, that’s it.” He wrangled Mele’s reins around the saddle horn and climbed off her back. Pidge said nothing, but she looked down at Hunk like he was gearing up to take a swan dive off the edge of insanity. Maybe he was. He wasn’t exactly good at this. 

Hunk pointed at the ground and jutted out his jaw. “Get down here.”

Pidge looked Hunk up and down. She looked wary, and her hands shifted around the reins. “Why?”

“So I can hug you without falling off of my damn horse.” Hunk’s eyes burned, and he had to swallow hard around the molten lump in his throat. “Pidge, I trust you. I always have and I always will. If you say you’re a girl, dammit you’re a girl, alright? And I’m never going to be some dick who tries to convince you otherwise.” Hunk’s throat was tight now, and he was sure it came through in his voice in the waiver of restrained tears. He hoped they were restrained. “Now get down here so I can be a good friend and hug you properly.”

Pidge laughed, as watery and relieved as a sailor waking up alive after a storm. She practically jumped off of Oma’o’s back and into Hunks arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing bright as the sky above. Hunk wrapped his arms around Pidge’s torso and hugged her tight. Her feet were probably dangling a good foot off the ground, but she didn’t seem to care. Hunk hugged her tighter, and Pidge buried her face into his shoulder. Whether she was laughing or crying now, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t know if the difference mattered. His eyes were growing wet, and he had to blink hard against the tears that threatened to fall. 

The sun had disappeared at some point, cloaked behind a bank of clouds, and a cool mist had descended on the mountain. It was cool against the back of Hunk’s singed neck. Pidge sighed one last time, then batted at Hunk’s shoulder. “Let me down, you oaf,” she said and Hunk let her down. She took off her glasses, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “That went better than I expected. Is- it’s really alright?”

Hunk put his hand on her shoulder again, steadier this time. “It is. Really.” He said. He ruffled her hair, to the defiance of Pidge’s indignant squawk. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Pidge punched him in the arm. “Yeah, I’ll try harder next time.”

“Good luck.” An idea struck, and Hunk couldn’t help but grin wide. “Hey, now you’re definitely Na’auao’s type! She loves short girls.”

“Hey! I’m not short,” Pidge said. “And I told you, we’re just friends.”

A red blush was spreading over Pidge’s cheeks. “Of course you are,” HUnk said. “We’d just love to have you in the family.”

Pidge stuck out her tongue at him. She mounted Oma’o again and rolled her eyes. “You’re a pain.” Hunk beamed at her and got on Mele. Try as she might, Pidge’s irritated facade didn’t last long. She cracked a smile at hunk, then began riding off towards the mountains. “Come on, we have work to do.” Hunk spurred Mele to follow on behind her, and riding up the plateau appeared before them. The sky was dark and cool above the cattle, milling about on the plain, and Hunk thought that this, all of this, would be just fine. 

* * *

Midday passed on the plateau in a laughing ease. Pidge jabbed at Hunk’s attempts at counting cattle (“Oh come on, Akia could do better than that”), and Hunk challenged her to do better (“Like you could see well enough to try”). 

It couldn’t last forever though. Hunk and Pidge arrived back at camp in the late afternoon, and when they did, Hunk wished he’d stayed with the cattle. Allura was at camp again. She sat primly next to Lance, hat poised perfectly on her curled hair and fan waved languidly by an elegant wrist. Lance sat near her, but not improperly near, and God dammit, he was smiling, all cocky and charming. 

Pidge breezed past Hunk into the pen, pulling Oma’o behind. Hunk tried to follow after, but he stopped when Lance called his name. “Hey, Hunk! Get over here.”

Hunk handed Mele off to Pidge (“Good luck,” she said, with a wink that Hunk didn’t want to decipher) and walked over to where the pair sat. Allura smiled a greeting at him, and Hunk nodded back, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

“So buddy,” Lance said, “how’d the scouting go?”

“It went pretty well,” Hunk said. “We found a watering hole that looks best, the big round one mauka side.”

Lance smiled at him. “Great job bud,” he said. “Allura here came up today to check on our progress. We were just discussing the work we’ve been doing, ain’t we?” He smiled that cocky grin in Allura’s direction, and she giggled. 

“Oh yes,” she said. “I do love hearing about this cattle business. It is quite fascinating.” She smiled up at Hunk, and it almost seemed genuine. 

Hunk nodded. “I’m happy to hear that, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to tend to the horses.” 

Hunk tried to leave, but a pfft sound from Lance stopped him in his tracks. “Sit,” Lance said. “The horses can wait. I was just telling Allura about your idea for a trap.”

Allura looked at Hunk with polite interest. “This is your idea?” she said. “It is quite clever.”

Hunk shook his head rapidly. “Oh, no. No, I’d say that was more of Lance’s idea than mine. I just helped out.”

Lance reached up and cuffed Hunk on the shoulder. “What’re ya talking about? It was all Hunk, I’m telling you. I only gave him a push in the right direction.” Lance smiled, bright as ever, and Hunk’s heart did a flip. Oh right. That. 

Allura fanned herself and smiled. “Not a pair to take credit, are we?” She directed her gaze towards Hunk. “I would love to hear the idea from you yourself, Hunk. It would be quite enlightening, I must say.”

“It’s really, um-” Hunk cleared his throat. “Well, we’re planning to build a fence around one of the watering holes on the plateau. That way when the dry season gets here, we can close the gates and catch the cattle inside. It’s not much, it’s just… Yeah.” Internally, Hunk winced. Allura might not be as socially terrifying as she was, back when she was a distant ali’i, but that didn’t mean that poor word choice and generalized awkwardness couldn’t rear its ugly head. 

But Allura just nodded politely. “Intriguing. Would this be similar to a chicken trap?”

“Yeah, a lot like that.” Well, not exactly. Hunk remembered those traps, from back when he was a kid. Take a basket and prop it up on a stick over some bait, then pull he stick loose as soon as a chicken wandered inside. It was fun for a while, at least until a hen separated from her chicks got a bit techy. He still had a scar from that encounter. But it was fun. Wait… He turned to Allura. “You know about those?”

Allura hid her face behind her fan. “I did have some fun as a girl.” Her eyes glimmered with mischief, but she turned to Lance. “On the trap, I would like to hear your thoughts, Lance. May it work?”

Lance tipped his hat and smiled that cocky smile again, flirty and perfect. “I reckon it might. Having a captive herd would make our jobs mighty easier, I can say that.”

“I suppose it would,” Allura said. “It would be far more favorable than the current state of affairs, as you’ve described to me.”

“You’re in the right there,” Lance said. “It may be tough to tame the herd, once we have it, but we’ll manage, just like we always do.” 

Allura smiled back. “I would expect nothing less. You must keep me abreast of your progress.”

“Will do, my lady. I’ll keep you updated personally, my treat.”

“Oh please do.” Allura stowed away her fan. “Well gentlemen, I must take my leave for the day. The royal court is calling.” Hunk stood up, but not before Lance had his hand out and poised to help Allura to her feet. “Why thank you,” she said, and it seemed like her hand lingered a second longer than necessary. 

Lance smiled at her. “By all means, princess,” he said. 

Allura broke Lance’s gaze with a slight touch of her ringer to her lips, and then she nodded at Hunk. “So good to see you, Hunakoa. And Lance,” she turned towards him, a small, beatific smile gracing her lips. “It was a pleasure. I do hope to see you again.”

Lance tipped his hat. “And you as well, my lady. Don’t let ‘em grind you down.” 

A few more pleasantries were exchanged and Allura made her way back down the hill, skirts swishing gently and breeze plucking at the loose curls framing her face. Lance appeared beside Hunk, watching her retreat with a small smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hunk nodded at him. “Hey, where did Shiro and Keith go?” he asked. 

Lance hummed his acknowledgement. “They’re selling the beef from yesterday, down at the docks.” He chuckled. “Those two know everyone down there, don’t they.”

Hunk shrugged. “They’re whalers. I guess they have to.”

“That they would...” Lance hummed. “When everyone gets back, we can talk about the plan, alright?”

“Sounds good,” Hunk said. Allura was growing distant down the hill, still just as pretty as the alula flowers for which she was named. She’d disappear over a hill soon, Hunk knew, but Lance was still watching her leave. “What do you think about her? Allura, I mean.”

Lance appeared to consider. He bit his lip and tilted his head back. “I think she’s a great girl,” he said. “Pretty, kind, and smart as a whip.” 

That was more or less what Hunk expected. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he fidgeted with the right words to say. “She’s single, you know.” He didn’t look towards Lance, though he could still hear the curious humm in response. “As far as I’ve heard, she hasn’t had a suitor in years. Marrying her would be a huge step up in status.” Hunk kept his tone as light and casual as he could make it. “Just so you know.”

Lance sputtered. “I- Are you sayin’-” He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the heads up, bud, but she’s not really my type.” His eyes skittered over the horizon, but Allura had already vanished behind it.

Hunk flushed. It might not have shown, and Lance might not have noticed, but Hunk could feel it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Hunk definitely meant it like that. If the pair got along, and if Lance could pull it off, that marriage is one of the best things that could happen to him around here. Allura needed a trophy husband one day, and Lance could use the security. It would be smart for Lance. It would be a good idea. Still, Hunk felt a giddy bubbling in his chest. Relief, or nerves, or something even more risky. 

Lance laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck, and yeah, he was definitely flushing. “I’m glad you think I’m ‘Mr. Allura’ material. At least somebody appreciates this handsome face.”

“None of us can forget that,” Hunk said. He returned his gaze to the horizon. It was getting late. “I’m glad, actually. I wouldn’t want to lose you to the ali’i just yet.”

Lance chuffed. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said, “I like having you around.” Hunk’s eyes were drawn to Lance’s and their gazes locked, almost as if they were being pulled together by a thread. Lance was a handsome man; Hunk had to admit it. The low hanging sun painted his face in blocks of light, drawing sharpened lines from cheek to chin and nose to eye. He looked like he was carved from wood, worn old, splintered, and sharp with the flicks of a knife. It was a wonder that it had taken this long to fall for this man. 

Lance coughed, and their gazes broke with an almost physical tug. “Well, I’ve got skins to tan. Ya know how it is,” Lance said. He flashed Hunk a wave as he turned and set off towards who knows where, and his eyes were locked firmly away from Hunk. “See ya later big guy.” 

Hunk followed after Lance eventually, and when he did there was a bounce in his step that wasn’t there before.

* * *

Keith and Shiro made it back to camp by sunset. Hunk sat up when he saw them coming and set aside his sewing. Pidge was curled into a kitten-like ball at his side, and he nudged her. “Hey Pidge, wake up. They’re back,” he said. 

Pidge groaned as she curled into an even tighter ball. “Ugh, no...” She sat up anyway, squinting off at the not-too-distant forms of Shiro and Keith. She groped at her face and groaned again. “Glasses. Where glasses?”

“On your head,” Hunk said. 

Pidge groped up higher until they hit her glasses. She pushed them back over her eyes and blinked. “Oh shit, they’re back.”

Lance knelt down by the firepit and started to break down kindling. He’d been doing something vitally important by the pens for the majority of the afternoon, though it had looked very much like he was braiding and rebraiding the same scrap of rawhide, in a spot behind a tree that you could easily fool yourself into thinking was unseeable from camp. He was back now, though, and his usual blithe smirk was back with a vengeance. “The sleepyhead’s finally awake, huh?”

Pidge rubbed at her yes. “Ngh, f’ck you.”

“Good morning to you too, Pidge,” Lance said. The fire didn’t take long to get started, and by the time Shiro and Keith tied up the horses by the pen, Hunk was sweating. Lance unwrapped a canvas wrapped packet, revealing a tough looking piece of meat. If he remembered correctly, they’d reported that the entire cow had been sold at the ports, and they’d been compensated accordingly. Lance noticed Hunk looking and smirked. He lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell the ali’i.”

Lance stabbed the meat though with a sharpened stick and situated it over the fire. It was a very hot fire, and that was a very big piece of meat. Hunk winced. It was going to be dry and tough, and half the fat would be burned to a crisp. That was not to cook meat, not under Hunk’s roof at least. Lance’s cooking, as efficient as it was, wasn’t something Hunk had gotten used to, not by a long shot. 

After the sun had set and the smell of meat grew savory and fragrant (and slightly burnt), Lance called out towards the horse pen. “Shiro, Keith. Get over here,” he yelled. “We’ve got stuff to talk about.”

Shiro made his way to the fire and sat, Keith on his heels. “What is there to discuss?” Shiro said. 

“Catching cattle, what else?” Lance said. 

For all of Shiro’s professionalism, Keith’s eyes were fixed intently on the hunk of meat that was slowly drying out over the fire. “Ey,” he said. “We eat or what?”

“Manners, Keith,” he said in an exasperated tone. “Be patient.”

“Patient for what? Food is there.” Keith gesticulated at the cut of beef over the fire. “Food, Shiro. Food.”

Lance laughed. “I like your spirit,” he said. “No worries. Help yourself.” Keith grunted something that may have been thanks. He pulled out a big dropped tip knife and tore off a strip of meat. “Someone’s got an appetite,” Lance said. 

Keith shrugged. “No shame.” He took a big bite out of the meat.

“Well alright then.” Lance clapped his hands down on his thighs and pitched his voice to the entire group. “All right, listen up. We’ve got a plan to start round up cattle for our own herd. It’d make our job a lot easier, and we could sell a lot faster. No more riding up and down the hill, and no more wrangling in the kiawe.”

“What’s the plan,” Shiro said.

Lance jerked his thumb in Hunk’s direction. “It’s Hunk’s idea. I’ll let him tell it.”

Hunk fumbled his sewing. Well, shit. He shot a look at Lance, who only flashed him a thumbs up. Very helpful, Lance. Thanks a lot. He sighed and explained the plan as best as he could. Keith was occupied with his meat, but Pidge and Shiro seemed to be listening, nodding along as he fumbled through the contours of their idea. 

“So yeah,” he said, looking stubbornly down into the fire. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Lance said. He turned towards the rest of the circle. “So, y’all in? If we’re gonna do it, all of y’all have to sign off on it. It’s a big undertaking, and we don’t want no disagreement when we’re doing it. But if you ask me, I think it’ll work.”

Pidge nodded. “It seems sound to me,” she said. “As wild as they are right now, they’re domesticated creatures. We might as well exploit that.”

“I agree,” Shiro said. “It would be more efficient than our current method, and it may give us more security in the long term.”

“Great,” Lance said. “That’s four out of five. Keith?”

Keith jerked his head at Shiro. “What he said.”

“Well, that’s that.” Lance clapped his hands. “We can start tomorrow morning, but for now,” he lifted the skewer off the fire, “who’s hungry?” Lance smirked at Hunk from across the fire, and Hunk felt his heart do a somersault. Right, Hunk forgot about that. It was very inconvenient.

* * *

Hunk woke up the next morning to a boot prodding his back. When he opened his eyes, he saw Lance standing above him, as little more than a dark silhouette against the blueing pre-dawn sky. “C’mon big guy,” Lance said. “It’s showtime.”

They saddled the horses and loaded them with supplies, as per Lance’s instructions. Axes, saws, and things Hunk didn’t even recognize were wrapped in canvas and secured to the horses backs. Hunk was awake enough to stay on his feet, but Pidge was another story. She groaned as she got on Oma’o’s back and wobbled in her seat. “‘S too early for this...” She rubbed at her eyes, almost knocking off her glasses. “I wanna rescind my approval. This is inhumane.”

Pidge looked like a grumpy cat. “Well then you shouldn’t have taken that nap yesterday,” Hunk said. “Maybe you’d feel more rested if you stayed awake.” Pidge had tossed and turned for half the night, once everyone turned it. She only stilled when Keith threatened her with unspecified consequences if she didn’t “get quiet.”

Pidge flipped Hunk off. “Rested enough to kick your ass,” she grumbled. Shiro glanced at pidge, and the corner of his mouth twitched with the effort not to smile. 

“I don’t know what y’all are talking about,” Lance said. He rode in front of them, as chipper and awake as he always was. “I feel great.” Pidge groaned and slumped forward onto the saddle horn. Lance laughed and spurred Azul forward. He began singing again in that bright, ringing voice. It was an odd song, half Hawaiian and half his language. The words swirled together like squid in the sea water, and somehow it worked. Hunk had only heard the song once now, but it was already his favorite. Lance gestured dramatically, with exaggerated facial expressions to match. “O ka wahine u'i e hula ana mai, en un bonito traje de luna, he nani ‘i’o no.”

Keith rolled his eyes so hard his neck had to move to fully express the sentiment. Even through his sleep-heavy eyelids and sore muscles, Hunk couldn’t help but smile. Lance glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were already sparkling in the cloudy darkness, and he smiled, warm and open as a midsummer downpour. Hunk felt his heart skip. Even in the early morning air, grimy and scraped and with sleep tousled hair and a hat pushed askew, Lance was the best thing Hunk had seen in a long time. 

The heavy barbs of anxiety sunk through Hunk’s ribs again. Even in the most banal of settings, and with the full knowledge that it was a horrible idea, Hunk still couldn’t push it away. This crush, as he was trying to reduce it to, didn’t seem to be going away any time soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Coming out, allusions to familial rejection, allusions to gender dysphoria
> 
> I can stop using masculine pronouns for Pidge now! It felt really gross. (Also I kept accidentally typing in the wrong pronouns in previous chapters. edits were a pain.)
> 
> I'm cisgender, and I didn't exactly get a beta reader for that part. Let me know if anything feels bad here, I'd love to hear it. (I would have gone off my own experience with friends coming out, but "*flops face first on a couch* ugh, I'm a girl" isn't the most universal frame of reference.) I didn't mean for the Pidge storyline to be as big of a component of this fic as it's turned into, and I don't really know how to roll it back. Good news, Hawaiian doesn't have any gendered pronouns, so it is linguistically impossible for the usual pronoun misgendering bs to happen. 
> 
> I just had to incorporate the song Lance is singing at the end at some point. It's called Na Vaqueros by Kuana Torres Kahele, and it's a song about Vaqueros and pretty women in combo Spanish and Hawaiian. The languages work unreasonably well together, considering the geography, but I love it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZHUxIqs2Rw
> 
> (Oh yeah, and I'm a day late. My excuse is that I lost a nerf battle. No, seriously.)
> 
> The chapter title comes from the song of the same name from Singing in the Rain. It's not country or Hawaiian, but I like it, so screw the chapter theme!


	9. The Weight of Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge makes a decision regarding the team, and Hunk sees a figure on the horizon he can't quite identify.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings apply

The fences went up with a week’s worth of sweat and a lifetime’s worth of splinters, saw burns, and aching backs. The cattle ran at the first sight of the new construction, but Lance had told them not to worry. The water was still fresh and deep. Obviously, the cattle would have to come back eventually. 

Hunk examined the watering holes from a nearby hill. Lance had told them to leave the area alone, as much as they could. He sent Hunk to check them out, and only Hunk. (He was somehow the quietest on horseback, and he had no idea how or why. Either Mele was just that good, or the others were just that incompetent.) The instructions were to keep his distance, far enough to see no difference between the bulls and the cows. “Better not spook ‘em,” Lance had said with a wink, “not until we want ‘em spooked.”

Distant or not, and quiet or not, the cattle were still wary. They milled around the edge of the field, for the most part, giving the fence a wide berth. A few approached, sniffing at them with a nervousness Hunk could pick out, even from the top of the hill. They’d approach soon though, as Lance would probably say. They’d have to drink eventually. 

The ride back to camp was a familiar route now, with a dirt trail worn into the hillside where their horses like to tread. Once, Hunk remembered the crunch of dry grass under their feet, and then the squish of mud under the horses hooves. Then again, once he had also remembered the ache of his calves and a white knuckled tightness on the reins. This time, he only felt the heavy cool of an incoming rain. The sun wasn’t as hot now as it once was. 

Back at the camp, two figures sat by the fire pit, one small and thin and the other straight-backed and elegant. Pidge knelt over yet another bull hide. She was smiling at Allura, eyes still laughing at a joke Hunk had missed. Allura held something red white and blue in her lap, and a shining needle rested against the fabric. It took a few more steps closer, but Hunk recognized the cross and stripes appliquéd on the cloth. It was a simple design, meant to flatter both the Americans and the British into believing that Hawaii was firmly under their heel. The union jack of the noble colonizers, the stripes of manifest destiny, and the colors of both. No matter the origins, it was a lovely design for quilting. 

Hunk stopped a few paces away. “Good morning, Allura,” he said, and he nodded towards the quilt. “Your quilt looks lovely.”

“Why thank you, Hunakoa,” she said. She smoothed it out in her lap, a patchwork of calico stripes. “That is quite high praise from someone of your family. You all have quite the skill for sewing.” 

“Thank you,” Hunk said. “It really is beautiful.”

Pidge spread out her arms, speckled with cow hair. “Hey. What am I, chopped liver?”

Hunk turned to Pidge. “Oh yes, where are my manners.” He put on his most sarcastic voice, which compared to some people he knew, wasn’t very sarcastic. “Your half tanned cowhide looks lovely as well. Absolutely stunning.”

“Why thank you, Hunk,” she said, in a much more effectively sarcastic voice. She brushed off her arms. “Ugh, this is the worst. Any news on the fences?”

“Nothing groundbreaking,” Hunk said. 

Allura perked up. “Oh yes,” she said. “How goes it with the trap?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hunk turned back to Allura. “It’s going pretty good. We finished building the fences. Now we just have to wait and see.”

“Well that is wonderful, I hope the best,” she said. 

“So do I.” Hunk shrugged. There were probably some pleasantries he should be going through right now. “How have you been doing?” Hunk said, because that was the only thing he could think of to say.

All the same, Allura smiled. “Quite well, thank you. I had much more free time than I was expecting, and I haven’t the faintest idea of what to do with it!”

Pidge grinned. “Well, I’m glad you’re spending it with us.” 

“Oh yes, leaving Kailua has been bracing. I am quite glad I took the opportunity.” Allura smiled again at Hunk, more warmly this time. 

“That’s good to hear,” Hunk said. Curiosity was battling with propriety, and curiosity seemed to have propriety in a headlock. “If you don’t mind me asking, has there been any news from court? It seemed pretty hectic the last time you were here...” 

“Nothing at all, in fact.” Allura frowned. “It is quite strange, to be frank. Normally some gossip still spreads, even if there is nothing to discuss.”

“Huh,” Pidge said. She leaned over the cow hide. “Not even about the King? There’s always something about him.”

Allura shook her head. “Less than none. No one has even been speaking of him of late.”

“That’s strange...” Pidge said.

“Quite strange indeed,” Allura said. 

There’s no getting around it, that was weird. Even still… “My sister always says that no news is good news,” Hunk said. “Maybe the King has just calmed down.”

Allura’s brow drew in further. “I am not so certain. No news is never good news with Kauikeaoli. In truth, this feels more like the calm before a storm.” Allura worried her nail between her teeth. Her eyes were darkened in contemplation far beyond their age, and her forehead was lined in harsh slashes. Hunk had forgotten, he realized with a start, that he was speaking to a chief. And a chief was always someone to be feared. 

Allura’s face brightened, and she turned back to Hunk. “But enough about that,” she said in a voice that barely betrayed a care in the world. “”How long until the trap is sprung?”

Hunk scrambled to catch up. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Lance hasn’t given the go-ahead yet.”

Allura nodded. “Then I must be sure to ask him. Would you happen to know when he will be returning?”

Hunk had only begun to point towards the stream when an accented voice called out in English from over the hill. “ _ Your highness! _ ” The man who appeared running up the hill was red haired and pale, and he was garbed in the clothing of a foreign navy. He had an impressive moustache and a mottled flush covered his face. He looked frazzled, Hunk thought, and well and truly out of his element. 

The man stopped a few strides from Allura. “ _ Princess _ ,” he panted. “ _ I must speak with you. _ ”

Allura’s brow knitted in concern. She responded in English as well, proper and clipped. “ _ Corran, what has happened? _ ”

“ _ Not here, Princess, _ ” he said, with a significant glance towards Pidge. 

“ _ I see. _ ” Allura stood quickly - and without anyone’s helping hand, like she never needed it in the first place - and followed the man off to just out of earshot. They spoke in low, urgent tones. English, from what Hunk could tell, but they were too far away for him to discern the words. Allura looked more and more concerned. A single word drifted over on a passing breeze:  _ Suicide. _

A hand landed on Hunk’s shoulder, and he jumped approximately six inches off the ground. He turned to see Lance. “Whoa there, squirrelly! Hey, what’s...” He caught sight of Allura and the strange, red headed man, and abruptly fell silent. 

Allura spoke a final word to the man and walked back towards them with quick, hurried steps. Her chest heaved, and for the first time since Hunk het her, she looked visibly shaken. “Gentlemen,” she said. “I apologize, but I must return to court immediately.”

If living with Pi’ikea taught Hunk one thing, it was how to recognize a politely veiled crisis. “I’ll help you pack your things,” he said. 

“Oh.” Allura sounded distracted, eyes flitting back to the red haired man. “Thank you, Hunakoa.”

Hunk set about gathering Allura’s things. Pidge stoop up. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?” She asked. 

Allura waved her hand dismissively, eyes now darting down the hill. “It is nothing.” She may have fooled someone before, but now Hunk didn’t think anyone, not even lance, would believe her. 

Hunk offered up her bundle of things, wrapped as neatly as he could. In English, Hunk said, “ _ Good luck, Princess. _ ”

Allura’s eyes widened briefly, but just as quickly she reined herself in and nodded. “ _ Thank you, Hunakoa _ ,” she said. She turned back towards the others and nodded. Again in Hawaiian, she addressed the group as a whole, in a proper sounding, chiefly tone. “I must leave. Excuse me.” She turned on her heel and set off towards her horse, trailed closely by the red haired man. Allura mounted with surprising speed and rode towards town; the man almost had to run to keep up. 

They disappeared over the first hill, and Lance whistled. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “That was something. Who was that guy anyway?”

Hunk didn’t look away from the horizon, but he turned as much as he could to answer. “Corran Smyth,” he said. “He’s Alula’a’alaōpūokalani’s chief advisor.”

Pidge gave Hunk a sidelong look. “You can call her Allura, you know.”

No, he couldn’t. Right now, she was Alula’a’alaōpūokalani. 

Lance shook his head. “Something important must be happening.”

Pidge sighed. “Yeah,” she said, “and I’m not looking forward to finding out.”

Lance only nodded. He pointed to something laying on the ground. “Hey,” he said. “Who is that?”

Pidge swore and picked it up. It was a small picket book, and a very nice one at that. It had a leather spine and a red, marbled cover, the kind of binding only used on books meant for noble folk. Pidge riffled through the pages and swore again. “It’s Allura’s, she wanted to show it to me,” she said. “She must have forgotten it.”

Hunk shot a look down the hill, but Allura and her advisor were far out of sight. “What should we do?”

Pidge closed the book carefully. “I’ll go down the hill and return it. She’ll want to have it back, whatever is happening at court.” She gestured at Hunk. “Hunk can come with me, we’ll be fast.”

“Really?” Hunk said. “I don’t think-” He caught sight of the look Pidge was shooting at him, half warning and half plea, and he snapped his mouth shut. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll go too. Just as a precaution, you know.”

Lance glanced over Hunk, then Pidge, then back to Hunk again, Searching them like Pi’ikea did when she was looking for a lie she knew was being hidden, but that she had no proof of yet. “Alright,” Lance said slowly. “Go on. Just be back by tonight.”

Pidge nodded. “Right, sounds good.”

Hunk pulled Mele out of the pen, Pidge not far behind, and they rode down the mountain. Pidge flipped through the pages at random as they rode, seemingly at random and stopping only to hum or tsk at a passage. They reached the edge of a patch of woods, one of the few consistently wet spots in the ahupua’a at the bottom edge of a short cliff. Pidge turned sharply and snapped the book closed. 

Hunk pulled to a confused stop. “What-”

Pidge jerked her head into the woods, towards the stream that bisected the forest. “Come on.” She spurred Oma’o into the forest, and really there wasn’t anything for Hunk to do but follow. The stream was rough in this area, loud and turbulent as a summer storm surge. Pidge looked up the stream, drumming her fingers against her horse's neck. Hunk stayed silent. For this time of year, the forest was hot. Too hot. 

Pidge shot a glance over her shoulder. “Do you think anyone could hear?” She asked, gesturing back towards the trail. Hunk shook his head. Pidge rapped the book’s cover with her knuckles decisively. There was a determined curiosity in her eyes, like the kind Hunk used to see while she worked her way through her conjugations in languages he couldn’t fathom. “Do you think I should tell the team?” she said. 

“About what?” Hunk said. 

“About me being a girl.” Pidge shrugged, and her voice was level and faintly interested, with the kind of plainness that only came from practice. “I’ve been thinking, and I think they should know.” She paused, and her voice shook loose. “I want them to know.”

Hunk nodded slowly. “And you’re sure?” Something in him recoiled at the thought, the same kind of shrinking as he felt to a quickening tide seen from shore, mounting as the surfers ducked under wave after wave, only to come up to an even larger one facing them down. 

Pidge scoffed. “Of course not. I’m not stupid,” she said. “It’s just something I’m thinking about, you know.”

“Weighing your options?” Hunk said. 

“Yeah, weighing my options.” She turned the book over in her hand. “I want your opinion.”

Hunk sorted through his memories of the team. “Shiro would be fine with it, I think. He’s an understanding guy.” Shiro barely paused for anything, barely ever taken aback. Most of the time, at least, he adjusted quickly. “And Keith does whatever Shiro does, so he’d probably be fine too.” What Keith was thinking at any given moment, Hunk had no idea. He’d roll his eyes and nod along, but his answers were always clipped short and monosyllabic. It was hard to get a feel for a guy who never said how he felt in the first place. Or for another enigmatic man who, for all they knew, might have worn a false heart on his sleeve. “I’m not sure about Lance.” He said, as much as it bit at his throat as he did. 

Pidge nodded. “That was my theory too. Lance is nice, but he’s, well...“

“He’s skittish about this kind of thing,” Hunk finished. This kind of thing, meaning aikane and the fisher’s son. Meaning Onegatta. Probably meaning the Mahu Hunk didn’t dare to mention, but that he would have to explain if they ever ran into one in town. Maybe even meaning Pidge. 

“And there’s the crux of it,” Pidge said. “It all comes down to Lance.”

Why did it always come down to Lance? “He’s a good person,” Hunk said. “Or at least he tries to be. He’ll get over it, if you give him the time.”

“I hope so.” Pidge sighed and rubbed at her neck. “I’m just so sick of being a man. To the team, I mean. Even if it was just up here, I want to be myself.” She slumped forward in the saddle. “God, I wish I could just shut up and deal with it.”

Hunk just nodded. There wasn’t much else that he could do. 

Pidge signed again, and she pulled herself up. She massaged her temples. “We should probably get moving.” Hunk nodded again, and Pidge turned to ride out of the forest. Hunk pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck.It wasn’t the sun, and it wasn’t the wetness of the air, but for some reason, it was too hot. 

They rode back out on the trail Hunk turned to the west, and the sun was still high and hot. Maybe bad weather was coming, or maybe the dry season was coming back for a visit. He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked over the horizon. Just over the hill, there was a figure. The figure wore a dress of some kind, and it rode on a tall horse. It rode drawn up straight and high born, silhouetted against far flung, royal blue sky.

Pidge tapped Hunk’s shoulder with the book. “Hey, what’re you staring at?”

The figure seemed to turn, towards them or away he couldn't tell. It turned back and rode off, clearing the hill and vanishing into a bent-over distance. “It’s nothing,” Hunk said. “Come on, let’s go.”

Hunk set off down the hill, and Pidge pulled up to ride beside him. She was still looking through that little red book. The figure was gone, and she didn’t see. Hunk said nothing. They rode in silence, and the light beat hot and merciless on them. The sun really was hot that day. 

* * *

The ride to Allura’s hale in town took about as long as Hunk took to start getting nervous. There were few people who matched the figure. It might have been Allura. She might have heard something, and that something might have been important. And if it was, there might be a lot of problems for Pidge on the horizon. But that was a lot of mights. The last thing Hunk wanted was to scare Pidge.

Hunk hoped that it wasn’t Allura. 

The big house felt less looming now that Hunk knew who lived in it. It didn’t feel occupied, even without trying to peer through the doorway. Pidge knocked on the frame, but no one answered, not even a wayward advisor or a foreign guest. Pidge frowned, then called out. “Allura? Is anyone here?” Still, no response. She turned to Hunk, and he shrugged. “What should we do?”

“Dunno,” Hunk said, “maybe-”

A voice called from behind them. “Oh, Pidge,” Allura said. She sounded breathy, and her hair was frizzed out, with small strands falling out of place. She strode towards them, rapidly trying to fix minute details that Hunk didn’t even notice were out of place. 

“Well that’s lucky,” Pidge said. “We just came by to return this.” She held up the book.

“Oh. Why, thank you. I was just riding up to retrieve it.” She took the book and patted at her hair in short, twitching movements. “My apologies for making you wait, I just rode up the mountain and II-” She cleared her throat, gaze shifting back and forth, never quite meeting Pidge’s eyes. “I had matters to attend to.”

Pidge waved her off. “We weren’t here long. Really, we’d take any excuse to get out of the mountains, right Hunk?” She elbowed Hunk in the side. 

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed automatically. He knew better than to contradict a polite excuse, especially now. Something, it just- seemed off. 

“Well,” Allura said. “Thank you for returning this, I do appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Hunk said, and Pidge nodded. 

Allura looked up long enough to give both of them a curt smile. “Thank you again for your company. Now if you will excuse me...” Allura disappeared into her house without another word. There was no western style door to slam, but the curtain fell closed with a noticeable finality. 

Hunk didn’t like it. “That was a bit weird,” he said to Pidge. 

“Yeah.” Pidge shook her head. “Whatever is happening at court must be big.” Hunk hoped it was the court. He had a feeling it was not. Pidge snapped her fingers. “Ah right! I’ve got an errand to run while we’re here. Do you think Lance would mind if we came back late?”

“He said to be back by dark,” Hunk said. It was mid afternoon, and plenty of daylight was still left. “I should go see my sisters, too.”

“Well, that settles it,” Pidge said. “We’ll meet back here when we’re done. It was just so hard to find Allura, wasn’t it?” She put on her most innocent expression, and Hunk chuckled. 

“Yeah, it was,” Hunk said. “It took all day, can you believe it?”

“So it did,” Pidge said. “See you later.” Pidge waved, and they parted ways. Hunk took the winding path up to his hale, and his mind travelled back to the town, and the strangeness he’d seen in Allura’s unsteady eyes. 

* * *

Allura was acting strange. There was no way around that. She accepted them like foreign visitors instead of friends, and she seemed cagey, skittish, and eager to get away from Hunk and Pidge both, with quick glances and short, formal sentences. 

She seemed eager to get away from Pidge, specifically. 

Allura was acting strange. She couldn’t look Pidge in the eye, and she’d left more swiftly than she ever would in polite company. She said she had rode up the mountain, but there she was, back at her own house not a minute after them. There was one good trail up the mountains, and Hunk had seen a figure riding down it. A straight backed, proper figure that rode off not long after Pidge said she was sick of being a man. And Allura had been acting strange. She was acting strange with Pidge. 

Hunk wished he hadn’t put together the pieces. 

The path up to his house was shorter than he remembered. Maybe he’d just gotten used to traveling uphill by foot. Pi’ikea, ‘Akia, and Hina sat under the breadfruit tree, working on some woven lauhala and cording. Hunakoa called out. “Welina!”

Pi’ikea looked up, and a smile spread across her face. “Huna,” she called. She set aside her weaving and stood. 

“Good to see you,” Hunakoa said. Pi’ikea pulled him into a hug. 

“Huna!” ‘Akia scrambled to her feet and ran towards Hunakoa, colliding with him and wrapping her arms soundly around his midsection. “You’ve been gone forever,” she said muffled by his side. 

“Hey kiddo,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” ‘Akia said. “Missed you though. No one’s here to carry my stuff.” She pouted, and Hunakoa laughed.

“Is that all I’m good for?” ‘Akia nodded. “All right, that’s it.” Hunakoa dug his fingers into ‘Akia’s side, and she screamed with laughter. She ran off and hid behind Pi’ikea. 

Hunakoa turned back to Pi’ikea. “Where is everyone?

”Oh, they’re off working.” She frowned down at ‘Akia. “Just like someone should be doing right now.” ‘Akia groaned and stomped back to her weaving. “Come in and sit. We have a lot to talk about.” Behind Pi’i, ‘Akia scrambled to her feet and darted into the hale. Pi’ikea only rolled her eyes and ducked through the door.

Hunk followed her in and settled on the floor. “Y’all must be busy. How have things been?”

“It’s been going well,” Pi’ikea said. “We’ve been doing more sewing lately than weaving, and it has paid well.”

“Huh, who for?”

“The sailors, down by the docks,” Pi’ikea said. 

Wait, that didn’t sound like a good idea. “Those are some rough men, and I’m not around as much. Is that safe for the girls?” Hunakoa said. 

Pi’ikea gave him a stern look. “Don’t give me that. Kahue was always twice the watchdog as you were. The ‘girls’ can take care of themselves.”

Hunakoa winced. “Sorry, force of habit. What are they sewing?”

“Repairing sails, mostly. It needs to be done, and the captains are willing to pay for it to be done quickly.”

Hunakoa sighed. “Good, that makes me feel better.” Sewing sails was one thing, but sewing for the sailors themselves, in their grimy ship bunks that smelled like hard liquor and sharpened steel, that was another. 

“It’s been going well. What about you, Huna? How have you been?”

“We’ve been good,” Hunakoa said. “We have a plan to catch more cattle. If it works out, I might be able to come home more often.”

“That’s good,” Pi’ikea said. ‘“Have you been eating well, you and the other boys?”

“Well...” The roofing looked nice, he thought, much nicer than Pi’ikea’s look of growing disapproval. 

“Hunakoa,” Pi’ikea said. “What has been happening?”

There was no point in lying. “It’s not the best, but there hasn’t been much time to eat well.” There wasn’t much will, either, but that detail was best left out. Hunakoa lowered his voice. “And they’re just horrible cooks, all of them. Really, you should see how they cook meat.”

“I have seen how the dockworkers eat,” Pi’ikea said. “Your men can’t be any worse.”

“I’m really not so sure,” Hunk said. “Hey Pi’i. Can I ask you for some advice?” He glanced over at ‘Akia, still working on her weaving in a corner of the hale. “Alone?”

Pi’ikea just nodded. In a sweet voice, she said, “‘Akia, honey? Could you see if there are any ripe breadfruit for Huna to take back to his friends?” She gave Hunakoa a significant look. “He’d love to have some.” Hunakoa suppressed a whine. 

‘Akia scrambled up with a bright “Sure!” and ran outside. 

Pi’ikea turned back to Hunakoa, her eyes turned dark and sober. “What’s wrong? Is it serious?”

“No,” Hunakoa said. “No, it’s just- I need your advice, please?” He looked at her imploringly, and Pi’ikea softened. 

“You can always talk to me, Huna. What’s wrong?”

Hunk sighed. “Thanks.” He searched for the words, the ones that would give enough for Pi’ikea to know what to say, but not enough to reveal any more than might already be known. “A friend of mine, they’re keeping this secret. It’s a big one, and it’s really important that no one else knows about it. But- I think another friend might have overheard us talking about it.”

“Are you sure this friend heard?” Pi’ikea asked. 

“No, I’m not, but if they did, it could be really bad.” If Allura told anyone, if she told Lance- She was Hawaiian, and she must have been raised with a mahu neighbor or friend. But she was reared by the missionaries. Who knows how much her morality had turned to match them. “Should I tell my friend anyway? They’d want to know.” If it really was her, Pidge needed to know.

Pi’ikea hummed in acknowledgement. She rested her head on steepled hands. “Do you know what our father would have said right now?”

Hunk shook his head. “I was too young.”

“Right,” Pi’ikea said. “He used to say ‘ _ I ka ‘ōlelo no ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make _ .’ Do you know what that means, Huna?”

Hunakoa shook his head. The words rang a bell, somewhere in the deep waters of his mind. Someone had said them to him before, and back then he grasped their significance. Now, it was lost to him. 

Pi’ikea didn’t look done. She rubbed her fingers together as she spoke. “Words are powerful things, Hunakoa. Hidden ones, even more so. They can give life, and they can destroy it. Do you know what I’m saying?”

Hunk nodded slowly. “So you’re saying I should tell them?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Pi’ikea said. 

“Alright. Thanks, Pi’i.” Of course, Pi’ikea could never give a direct answer

‘Akia appeared with her arms weighed down with a few big breadfruits and a precariously placed bunch of hala fruit. “Hey,” Hunakoa said. “Thanks hon.” He turned back to Pi’ikea. “I should get going, Lance wants us back up the mountain by nightfall.”

Pi’ikea nodded and smiled, small and warm. “Come back soon, Huna.”

Hunakoa smiled back, a bit wider but a bit weaker as well. “I will.”

* * *

The trek down into town was harder than the one up, weighed down by breadfruit and a decision that needed to be made. _ I ka ‘ōlelo no ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make. _ In words is life, in words is death. These words would hurt Pidge. They would worry her to no end, poison her thoughts, and colonize her mind with the “what ifs” and “if onlys.” They would drive her mad, whether or not they were founded in truth. 

And Hunk didn’t even know for sure. Who was he to spread speculation, based on a quick glance of a figure on the horizon? It could have been anyone, and the water was loud enough to mask the noise. There was no way to know for sure. Accusations have a way of sticking, and making them shouldn’t be taken lightly. Telling Pidge would hurt Allura. Pidge would become wary, skittish, and scared of every interaction. She’d cage herself off, and Allura would be left to wonder what she did wrong. A friendship was growing between them, and a false accusation would end it where it stood. 

Words can hurt, and words can heal.  _ I ka ‘ōlelo no ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make _ . 

But if they were true, the lack of them would hurt so, so much more. 

If. 

* * *

Pidge was already there when Hunk reached the square. She waved at Hunk as he approached. “Hey! How’s everyone doing?” She said. 

Hunk smiled, and he hoped it reached his eyes. “They’re great, just great. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s blow this joint.” Pidge shook her head. “Man, allura was acting weird today.”

_ I ka ‘ōlelo no ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make.  _

Hunakoa looked away. He didn’t know anything for sure. He didn’t know who the figure was on the ridge and he didn’t know if they heard and he didn’t know if he should say anything if they did. He didn’t know anything. Pidge looked at him curiously. “Hey,” she said. “is something up?”

_ I ka ‘ōlelo no ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make. _

“It’s nothing,” Hunk said. “Come on, let’s go.”

The sun was bright and hot on Hunakoa’s back, and even as he walked away from it, he could have sworn that it still stung his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawaiian flag quilts were a really popular quilt style, back in the day. Early examples generally date to the mid 1800s, but I’m going to say that Allura is a trendsetter. 
> 
> “I ka ‘ōlelo no ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make” is an ‘olelo no‘eau, or a Hawaiian proverb with a number of translations, including “in words is the power of life, in words is the power of death,” “words can heal, words can destroy,” “in language there is life, in language there is death,” and like ten thousand others. Hawaiian is a subtle language. The general meaning though is that words are powerful things, and they can do good and bad, so you should be careful with how you use them. 
> 
> Pidge’s storyline was really not supposed to be this far in the forefront, or this compressed; it just kind of happened. She doesn’t strike me as the type to wait around long on stuff like this, and hopefully I’m doing her justice. Once again, if anything feels icky, let me know!
> 
> (Jesus these endnotes are getting long.) Also, new chapters are going to be more spaced out for a bit. Once a month, but still on Sundays. The virus is causing some chaos on my end, plus the normal demands from this time of year. I'm not giving up though, just spreading things out. I've got too much outlining done for that! 
> 
> The title comes from the song of the same name by The Town Pants, an Irish band with a penchant rock instrumentation. Once again, it doesn’t fit the country western theme I had going, but the on-the-noseness was too good to pass up.


	10. Lay Down, Little Dogies, Lay Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance learns a new word, and some eventful happenings occur around the fences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for peril.

For all the tough talk Lance gave them, way back in the town square on that first day, there was a lot of waiting around for something to happen in this job. It wasn’t boring or tedious; it was just slow, afternoons spent riding to the plateau and mornings at camp, working on whatever tasks needed doing. It wasn’t home - it could never be - but something about it was nice. 

Right now, the horses needed water, so that was what Hunk was doing. They had a real water trough now, roughly burned out from a fallen tree found in the kiawe The horses were tamer now, less wild. They were prone to occasional bucking fits, sure, but for the most part they were willing to put up with the orders coming from humans on their backs. 

Footsteps sounded from behind Hunk, and he turned to see Lance. He’d loosened up recently, something Hunk enjoyed far more than he should have. He ditched the heavy leather pants he wore in the kiawe and rolled up his sleeves more often than not, and he even took his shoes off around camp sometimes, though he still walked like a haole and complained about burns and sore feet. Lance nodded a greeting, leaning against the fence next to Hunk. “Hey bud,” he said with that cocky grin that sent a jolt through Hunk’s gut. “How’s it goin’?”

Hunk stood up straight and smiled back. “Pretty good,” he said. “What’s up?”

“All the same,” Lance said. “I’m thinkin’ we should head up the mountain, it’s ‘bout time to check things out.”

“Sounds good,” Hunk said. “Just give me a minute to finish up over here.” 

Lance saluted. “Don’t take too long,” he said, and he strutted away toward Azul. Damn pretty bastard. 

Hunk moved the buckets out of range of the pen (Pukoko had taken to biting them when no one was looking for reasons that even Lance couldn’t fathom), and went to pack for the ride. He threw a handful of hala fruits in his bag. Back when he was a kid, they were his favorite, sweet and crunchy and crisp as a makahiki treat. Mele seemed to watch him as he picked up his saddle. He hefted it over his shoulder and carried it to the pen. “Hey girl,” he said. “Nice day, isn’t it?” Mele snorted. “Yeah, I thought so.” 

Hunk glanced around for Lance. He was knelt on the ground by Azul, inspecting something or other on her foot. Hunk palmed one of the hala fruits. “Want a snack, girl?” He held out the fruit for her (flat palmed, like he’d learned from Lance and painful experience) and she gingerly picked it out of his hand. She tossed her head back and forth, and Hunk smiled. Large as Mele was, she was a funny little thing. 

Lance appeared beside Hunk. “Ready to head out?” He was smiling with a knowing little twinkle in his eyes, and Hunk his palm uselessly behind his back. 

“Ready.”

Lane clapped him on the shoulder. “Well then come on, big guy,” Lance said. He lead Azul out of the pen, and Hunk followed behind.

Hunk was used to the ride up the mountain by now, or at least Mele was. He dropped the reins to fish around in his bag, and he pulled out a few hala fruits. He held one out to lance. “Want one?” he said. 

Lance eyed it like Hunk used to eye hardtack. “What is it?” Lance asked. 

Oh right. Lance hadn’t eaten much more than hardtack, beef, and whatever Hunk’s sisters could scrounge up since he got here. “It’s good,” Hunk said. He took a bit out of it to demonstrate, then held out another to Lance. 

Lance continued to eye the fruit like it was half poison and half rock, but he took it. He took a small bite, and his eyebrows ticked up in curious surprise. “Huh, it’s sweet,” he said. 

“Yeah, that’s the point,” Hunk said. “I used to love them as a kid.”

“It’s better than it looks,” Lance said. “I had mangos sometimes when I was a kid. Those were real good.”

“Manago,” Hunk said, though he was pretty sure he pronounced it wrong. “What are those like?”

“You’d love ‘em,” Lance said. “They’re this fruit, real sweet and soft as poi inside. Now that’s what I call good.”

Hunk made a face. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Aw come on,” Lance said, “What’s that face for now?”

Hunk scrunched up his nose. “Squishy fruit doesn’t sound very ‘ono to me.”

“Oh, you take that back,” Lance said. 

“Take back the hardtack first, I’m sick of it.”

Lance laughed. “Fair enough. I still ain't used to taro yet.”

Hunk dropped his jaw. “How can you not like taro?” he squeaked. “That’s like not liking breathing.”

This time, Lance threw his head back to laugh. “Don’t ya know, dear? Nobody can take me away from good old hardtack.” 

Hunk shuddered, and Lance shook his head, a smile still quirking at the corner of his mouth. “The horses are doing better,” Lance said. “Mele hasn’t made a fuss once this whole time.”

Hunk smiled. “Yeah, they have,” Hunk said. “None of them can measure up to Azul, though.”

“None of ‘em ever can,” Lance said. He reached down and patted her neck. “She’s my lovely horse, ain’t you girl?”

_ Ko’u lio milimili _ . The phrasing of that struck hunk as wrong somehow, like some foreign turn of phrase shoehorned into Hawaiian by a malihini. Oh right, Lance was a malihini, and one still learning at that. 

“There’s actually a word for that,” Hunk said. 

“What?”

“There’s a word for that,  _ ku’u _ ” he said. “My lovely, my beloved.”

“Huh,” Lance said. “Ya know you’re gonna have to say more than that, bud.”

“Oh right, sure,” Hunk said. “ _ Ku’u. _ it’s one of those words that didn’t make it in the books. You know ko’u and ka’u? Saying something is yours? It’s one of those, but it means you really care about it.” Hunk rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not really necessary. It’s just one of those little things, you know?”

To Hunk’s surprise, Lance nodded. “Huh, nifty. So what’d I say,  _ ko’u ku’u lio? _ ”

“Just  _ ku’u lio,  _ it replaces ko’u.”

“And there’s none of that o or a stuff?”

“Nope,” Hunk said. 

Lance grinned. “Nice, I hate that stuff. That’s a word I can get behind.” He patted Azul on the neck. “ _ Ku’u lio. _ ”

“Exactly,” Hunk said. He thought for an example. “ _ Ku’u kaikuahine _ , my sister. I use that sometimes.”

Lance chuckled. “Of course ya do,” Lance said. He bumped Hunk’s shoulder. “I guess that makes you  _ ku’u hoaloha. _ ”

Oh Lono no. Sure it was an easy mistake to make, and Hunk was sure that a thousand teenagers made it a thousand, mortifying times, but, um- 

“That’s a bit different,” Hunk said. His face was heating up, he was sure. Oh someone save him. “Not friend, exactly. It’s more like, well, kind of like sweetheart.” Hunk braced himself, and sure enough…

Lance sputtered. “That’s not- Yeah, no I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I know, I know,” Hunk said. “I- It’s an easy mistake to make.”

“You know me, bud. I don’t-”

“I know,” Hunk said, ignoring the lump in his throat. “I got it, I know.”

“Good,” Lance said. He was averting his eyes, far far way from Hunk. “God, gotcha.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make,” Hunk said. Lance kept looking away. “Hey, it could have been worse.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Lance mumbled sarcastically. “It ain’t like I called my best friend my darlin’ or nothing.” 

Best friend? Hunk’s heart jumped. He liked the sound of that- not the right time. Hunk searched for an avenue to alleviate at least a bit of the awkwardness radiating off Lance in waves. He tried for casual. “Nah really, it could have been a lot worse. You could have said that in front of Shiro, or Allura, or my sisters, or-”

“Not helping, bud,” Lance said. He was going quite red, Hunk noticed. Red and still very unwilling to meet Hunk’s eyes. “Thanks for trying. Ya ain’t my sweetheart, bud.” He laughed stiffly and punched Hunk in the arm. “Thank God, am I right?”

That sounded like it was supposed to be a joke. If it was a joke, Hunk should probably be laughing. Hunk laughed. “Yeah, thank God.” He tried to ignore, with all the will he could muster, how much he wished that Lance actually meant it like that. 

Suddenly, Lance stood upright in the stirrups. “Looks like we’re here,” he said, and kicked Azul forward. 

Hunk thanked whoever’s god was listening for the distraction. Over the ridge, there were herds of cattle mingling across the field in packs. A sizable herd, maybe a few dozen strong, had settled inside the fences. Some drank from the watering hole, while others stood idly grazing or lying on the scraggly grass. 

Lance hummed. ”What phase was the moon last night?” he said. 

“Huna,” Hunk said, “maybe mohalu.” 

“And what does that mean in malihini talk?

“It’s a few days before the full moon.”

Lance nodded at the horizon. “‘Bout time then. The cows are in and the moon’ll be bright enough to see by. What do you think?”

The cattle looked comfortable inside the fences. Even with Hunk and Lance at the top of the ridge, none were bolting. “It looks good to me,” Hunk said. 

Lance grinned in that way of his, sly and cocky and like you and him were sharing the same secret. It was an infection, and Hunk began to catch it. “Tonight’s the night then,” Lance said. “We’re in the home stretch, bud.”

Hunk swallowed down on a nervous laugh. “Great.”

Lance turned Azul around. He called over his shoulder. “Cmon, we’ve gotta go tell the others it’s the big night. Y’all’re gonna have an early morning.” He winked, and Hunk’s heart did another treacherous flip. He turned Mele around to follow Lance. The plan was working. Hunk should be excited about that, and not by the image of Lance winking at him and calling him  _ ku’u hoaloha _ and actually meaning it. 

* * *

It took until the late afternoon to ride back down to camp. The sky was blessedly cool and cloudless. It would let the light of the moon through as clear as a spear through glassy seas. It was an opportunity, and Hunk didn’t know whether the coppery taste on his tongue was fear or excitement. 

Lance didn’t even wait until he had dismounted before he called out for the team. “Hey y’all, get over here,” he yelled. “Meeting by the fire.”

“I hear ya!” Pidge yelled back. She set aside her half rebraided lasso. (Lace had told them it would make the lassos stronger, once they’d been stretched out from use. An old tradition, old as campfire stories and bronc riding on summer days. Personally, Hunk though Lance was screwing with them.)

Shiro shouted from a bit beyond the horse pen too. “We’re coming.” Keith reigned Pukoko to a stop, which she didn’t seem to appreciate, and dismounted like a man jumping away from a fire under his seat. Mele gave Hunk no such trouble as he rode her into the pen, and he had to feel a rush of pride. She was a good horse. He held the gate open for Keith as he struggled with Pukoko, and then walked to the campfire and settled next to Pidge. 

“Holding down the homefront?” Hunk said.

“You know I am,” she said. “What’s this about.”

“You’ll see. Hold your horses,” Hunk said. Pidge elbowed him in the side. 

Lance appeared on the mountainside of the fire pit, silhouetted against a blue sky and his hair glowing against the sunlight like a halo. “Did anyone light a fire today?” he asked. 

Pidge shrugged. “We haven’t cooked, so no.”

Lance shook his head. “No kiddin’. Hand me some kindling, would ya?”

Pidge shot Hunk a ‘can you believe this?’ look. “If you say so,” she said. “It’s not getting any colder than this, you know.” But Lance had already crouched down by the firepit, knocking out charr and spare ash. Pidge sighed and shoved the pile of kindling over with her foot. She turned to Hunk and mouthed “malihini.”

Lance started a lovely fire. At least, it would have been lovely if it wasn’t already hot enough to make Hunk sweat. Shiro and Keith sat down a good few paces away from the fire. Smart. 

Lance glanced over at Keith. “How’s Pukoko coming along? Is he still being a sonuvagun?”

Keith held up his arm and pointed at a red bite mark, just above his rolled up sleeve. “One,” he said. Hunk winced. 

“Only one?” Lance said. “He’s getting better, good to hear.” Lance gave the fire one final poke and leaned back. “All right, listen up,” he said in the voice he used for announcements. “Me and Hunk just checked on the fences, and it looks like it’s time to go.” Shiro sat up straighter. He nudged Keith in the side, who gave him the kind of look that barely contained the fed-upness of the glarer. Lance continued. “The cattle are gettin’ used to the fences, and it looked like they were settling down for the night. The moon’s going to be near full tonight too, so the light’ll be good for us.” He spread his arms in what Hunk was starting to recognize as a dramatic gesture. “This’s gonna be the best shot we’ll have for a good while. What do y’all say?”

“Alright, what’s the plan?” Pidge said. 

Lance glanced around the fire. “Everyone else on board?” he asked. There was a chorus of nods. “Fantastic. The plan’s to go up late at night. Around midnight, if I keep an eye on the moon. We head around and close the gates, quiet as we can. Then we leave and come back in the morning, once they all settle.” Lance clapped like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Just like that.” 

Hunk could only nod along. A nervous bubbling was growing in his chest. It was happening. It was really happening, and there was so much that could go wrong.

Lance continued. “Now I’ve never done this particular maneuver, but I rounded up a few cattle in my time and y’all haven’t, so I’ll give y’all a few tips. Once they wake up, they’re gonna try stampeding. Wild ones don’t take kindly to being cooped up, and they don’t like us either, so if they see us, they’re gonna bolt anyway. If that happens, get the gates closed and don’t worry about the noise. Got it?”

They nodded, though Keith seemed a bit less enthused, picking at his fingernails with a knife. 

“Great. There’s one other thing, y’all listening?” He paused, and his face went dark as a bad storm. He glared at Keith. “Hey, tough guy,I’m talking to you.”

Keith glared back. “Fine,” he said. He tossed aside his knife and crossed his legs.

“Good. When I say listen you listen, y’hear,” Lance said. “Alright, this is important. If the cattle start coming towards you, you get out of the way.” His voice was as dark as his eyes, which scanned to each of them in turn. “Drop everything and get out. Don’t matter what you’re doing, get out. Get off your horse if you have to. It’s better for all of us to start over than for you to end up dead.” 

Lance locked eyes with Hunk, and he felt like he was caught in the sights of a spear thrower. “Got it?” he said. Hunk nodded, and Shiro barked out a “yessir” that sounded like an instinct. This was happening, Hunk though, and there was so much that could go wrong. 

Lance’s face cleared, and he clapped. “Great,” he said. “Go saddle up the horses and get some rest. Y’all’ve got an early morning.” 

While the others left to saddle up their horses, Hunk stayed behind. Lance stared into the fire for a moment, then pulled himself up with a grunt. He jerked his chin at Hunk. “Help me water the horses, would ya?” he said. 

“Oh, sure.” Hunk followed Lance to the pen and picked up two of the buckets. They walked to the steam and back without comment, and whether Lance was thinking or just enjoying the air, Hunk couldn’t tell. They dropped off the water inside the fence. The others had gathered again around the fire, a bit closer now that the sun was starting to fall. Hunk moved back towards them, but Lance stopped. 

Azul was standing by the fences, still in her bridal and saddle. Lance reached out and stroked her neck. He murmured something low in that musical, lilting language he probably hadn’t touched in months. He wasn’t singing, but it still felt like a lullaby. For some reason, Hunk looked away. 

* * *

The sun was setting by the time they settled in for the night. Pidge was curled up in a surprisingly small ball by the fire, and she hummed a half-conscious acknowledgment when Hunk sat down a few paces from her. Across the fire, Shiro cleaned an unseen spot of dirt from his arm and stowed it at his side with his lasso. On Shiro’s right, Keith sharpened a knife. A different one than even this afternoon. Where did he stow those things?

Even after Keith and Shiro had settled in for sleep, Lance was still sitting up. He still had his hat and boots on, and he poked at the fire in a way that showed no intention of settling down for a while. “Lance,” Hunk said. “Are you going to sleep?”

“Nah,” Lance said. ‘I’ll wake y’all up when it’s time.” He leaned back with a sign and threw his poker into the fire. He dropped his head back, and the glowing light of the fire danced along the lies of his throat. 

“Do you want me to stay up with you?” Hunk said. “To keep you company, I mean.”

“Nah, you should rest,” Lance said. “Besides, I’m good at working late. You’re gonna need your shuteye, bud.”

Hunk hummed and nodded. He pulled his bag in as a pillow and tried to relax. He tried, but all the possibilities were still swirling around in his mind. The cattle could escape, the gates could get stuck, someone could get hurt. They were doing it, but so, so much could go wrong. “Hey, Lance?” He murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we can do it?”

Lance didn’t say anything at first. Hunk could barely make out the lines of his face against the night sky, but his eyes til glinted like stars in the fire’s light. Lance sighed. Not tired or resigned, just a sight. “This’ll be the test, won’t it?” he said. “If we do it, we do it. We’ll just have to see.”

Lance looked older, in that light. The lines in his face looked deeper, sure, but it wasn’t just that. There was a weight on his shoulders, tugging him down like drawstrings around the earth. That weight had no right to be there, not for a man probably twenty five or thirty years of age. Hunk wanted to- he didn’t know what. Hug him? Tell him it would be alright? What could Hunakoa do against the world? And would Lance even care?

“I’m ready for anything.” The words tumbled out of Hunk’s mouth, more earnest than he ever meant to be. Or that he would have meant, away from the dying firelight catching in Lance’s old eyes. 

Lance looked back down at Hunk. Something in his eyes spoke of hope. Not the foolish hope of a boy going out for his first fishing trip or a girl dancing for her sister’s first birthday. It was a hope that was steady. Not the flitting kind that betrayed its caretaker. It was the kind that knew all the ways that hope could go wrong in a bitter reality, but that remained anyway. Lance’s eyes spoke of hope, but his mount bent with a wistfulness that Hunk couldn’t place. 

Lance spoke softly. “Get some rest, bud,” he said. This time, it sounded like a wish. 

Hunk leaned back again, and Lance started humming a little song, softly enough that Shiro and Keith probably couldn’t hear. Hunk closed his eyes and just listened, listened to a soft, sentimental tune he would never really know.

* * *

Hunk woke up to a hand shaking his shoulder. It was dark as death, probably near midnight going off the height of the moon. Lance stood over him, fully dressed. Hunk rubbed his eyes. “‘S it time?” he said. 

“That it is,” Lance said. 

“Right.” Hunk pulled himself upright and winced as his back protested. Pidge was still curled up in a ball by the fire. Hunk shook her shoulder. “Pidge?”

Pidge curled up tighter. “Ugh, what?” she said. 

“Lance said it’s time to go,” Hunk said. Pidge groaned and sat up, rubbing her face. Across the fire, Hunk heard the scrape of someone moving. A smaller figure, Keith probably, said something Japanese, barely above a mutter, and Shiro started to stir, 

Lance clapped his hands, still standing awake and annoyingly well put together. “All right, sound off. Who’s awake?”

Pidge groaned.

Hunk raised his hand. “Present.”

“Look at that, we’ve got a live one,” Lance said. 

Shiro had sat up at some point, and he waved at Lance. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”

“Gotcha,” Lance said. “Alright, everybody up. We’ve got a long ride up to the fences.”

Pidge groaned. Again. 

* * *

The ride up the mountain was silent, at least until they reached the edge of the plateau. The moon hung a hand’s breadth over the mountain. It was full, definitely mohalu. It would be a good day for planting taro, back home, or for going down to the beach to trade with Pala for a fresh catch. But Hunk wasn’t back home. He was at the top of a mountain past midnight, and he was going to trap a herd of giant, sharp hooved cattle that really didn’t want to get caught. 

God, how did he get here?

There was just enough light for human eyes to see. The cattle were gathered inside the gates, and it looked like they were sleeping. Hunk glanced a Lance. He was scanning the cattle, so intently that Hunk couldn’t imagine what there was left to see. Lance made a signal, a little jerk of his fingers, and they rode in close. 

Lance pitched his voice low. “Here’s what you’re gonna do,” he said. “There are five gates and five of us. Shiro, take the ocean side. Keith, take the kiawe side. Pidge, take the side by the watering hole. Hunk, take the cliff side. I’ll take the mountain side, got it?” Hunk nodded. “Good, get to your gate and close it. Make sure to tie the rope tight. And remember what I told you. They stampede, run like Hell. Stay quiet. Good luck.”

They broke, and Hunk rode slowly towards the gate. He’d never noticed how loud Mele was until now. Every hoofbeat and every snort made Hunk’s shoulders jump, every time he was sure this was the one that would wake the cattle. But the cattle slept on. They were big, this close up, and there were so many of them, so many that their hides blurred into a sea of gently heaving flesh. Hunk hoped the others were feeling as nervous as him. 

Before he knew it, Hunk was at the gate. He could hear the breathing of the cattle from this close, and there was the smell of something early and bitter about them. Hunk dismounted as quietly as he could and winced as his feet hit the ground. The gate was hanging low from its rope hinges, far enough that the corner was resting against the ground. Hunk lifted the gate and walked it closed. He tied the gate shut with the most secure knot he knew. Back in the day, his father said it was used to hold down sharks. Really, he just used it when the roof needed repairs. Shark or ceiling beams, he hoped it was strong enough to hold off cattle. 

Hunk stepped back, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Shiro was barely a moving shadow on the slope. He was standing back from the fence, closed as far as Hunk could see. Something that might have been Shiro’s arm waved. All clear. 

Hunk scanned the fenceline for the others. Lance hadn’t even dismounted to tie off his gate, and he was riding back towards Hunk and the safe side of the plateau. Pidge was done too, though it was hard to see more than a vague outline, but Keith hadn’t even reached his gate. 

There was a snort from the cattle. Only one or two, but a tingling panic started buzzing in Hunk’s eyes. Lance must have heard it too, and he started riding faster. He pulled up next to Hunk and hissed. “Are all the gates closed?”The cattle were getting louder. The noise was more than snorts now, now it was rustling in the scrub and lowing moos, and it was getting louder. 

Keith, where was Keith? It was still too dark and- there! Keith was at the gate, still on his horse, and he wave the all clear. 

Hunk sighed. “Looks good,” he said. He turned to smile at Lance, and with a sinking feeling like a digging stick in a spider nest, he remembered the last gate. The one they added at the last minute, the one that was still open, all the way at the other side of the pen. 

The cattle were starting to stand. Hunk heard Lance swear at full volume. Lance stared, eyes wide, at the big steer at the edge of the herd. It turned in a circle, right towards the open gate. Lance spurred Azul straight into a gallop. He yelled, “Keith, get the gate!”

Keith moved without a second of hesitation. He rode towards the gate, hard enough that Hunk could see Pukoko’s neck strain, but the cattle were running too. The cattle were  _ charging.  _ Hunk spurred Mele to follow Lance, though he had no idea why. There wasn’t anything for him to do, other than hope. 

“Keith, get out of the way,” Lance shouted. But Keith kept riding. Could he even hear?

Around ten yards from the gate, Pukoko stumbled. It was barely a moment, but then he was down, and Keith tumbled into the ground. Hunk couldn’t see, not through the cows and the dark and the damn fences, but he could hear Keith yell in pain. Shiro shouted, “Keith!” but Keith was up as fast as he fell. He stumbled, but he kept running. The head steer was charging hard now, and the whole herd followed it, straight towards the open gate. 

Keith slammed the gate closed. He tied it closed and threw himself back, just as the head steer crashed into the gate, and by some miracle, it held. 

Hunk sighed so hard his lungs ached for air. Lance reached the gate and dismounted before Azul even stopped. He pulled on the rope with a frantic kind of force that rattled the gate on its hinges. He looked up, and his eyes were clown wide, wide enough for Hunk to see the whites rimming his iris and the remnants of a deep seated fear. 

Then Lance rounded on Keith. He stormed up to Keith, jabbing his finger at Keith’s chest like a knife. “What did I tell you?” he yelled, loud and harsh as waves breaking on lava cliffs. “What did I tell you! The cattle charge, you get out of the way.” 

Keith grunted something Hunk couldn’t hear, but Lance’s shoulders drew taught. 

“Don’t give me that shit. When I tell you to do something, it’s for a reason, get it? I tell you to move, you move. You weren’t even on your horse You could have been killed.” Lance’s voice was hoarse, like it had been dragged over sharp lava and was still struggling to bite. 

Hunk would have been cowed if Lance shouted at him like that. He would curl in on himself and apologize and do anything he could to have it never, ever happen again. He would be terrified. Hell, he was terrified just watching. Keith was clearly made out of stronger stuff. He growled and gritted his teeth like he planned to bite back, but before he could say anything, Shiro was behind him. 

Shiro grabbed Keith’s arm and spun him around. Shiro looked him over frantically. His hair was askew and his eyes were wide and panicked. “Are you hurt?” he said. 

“Fine,” Keith said. 

“Are you sure?” Shiro said. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Keith huffed. “Fine,” he said again.

Shiro’s head dropped and his shoulders slumped, like a branch tied across them had been broken in half. “Thank the spirits,” Shiro said. He gripped Keith’s arm tighter. “You shouldn’t be taking risks like that. That was too reckless.”

Keith shook off Shiro's’ hand. “Fine,” he barked.

Shiro tried to grab Keith’s arm again, but Keith jerked away. “You might not have been,” Shiro said. His voice was getting close to a shout now, louder than the baying of the cattle. “I’m not going to lose you to your stupid ego.”

Keith’s hands balled into fists. He shouted something in Japanese, sharp and hard as a seashell cutting through rope, and Shiro jerked back. His expression changed with something twisted and pained, and he pulled Keith into a hug. Hunk looked away. 

There was a scuffling off towards the cliff. Pidge appeared, pulling a reluctant Pukoko along by a lasso around his neck. “He looks fine,” Pidge said to no one in particular. Keith broke away from Shiro and nodded a thanks. Pidge pulled the lasso off from around Pukoko’s neck, and Keith took the reins. He mounted, but he hissed as he dropped into the saddle, and his hand jerked towards his ribs. 

Shiro's eyes went wide. “Keith, are you-”

Keith growled and grabbed the reins tight with both hands. “Fine.” He turned his back on Shiro. 

Lance took in another deep, shuddering breath through his nose. “Everyone get back to camp,” he said. “I’ll catch up.” He mounted Azul and turned sharply to ride along the fences. While his hand was steady as he ran it along the fence post, occasionally tugging on a join, his eyes were not. He raised one hand and rubbed the back of his head hard and fast, like he was trying to knock off a clinging, horrible thing that wouldn’t go away. Hunk rode up next to Lance. Lance’s foot was bouncing in the stirrup, so fast that his spur jingled in a continuous, frenetic ringing. 

Hunk cleared his throat. “Hey, are you alright?” he said. 

Lance didn’t look at him, but his foot bounced faster; the spur was screaming. Lance’s jaw didn’t tighten, it was already clenched as hard as it could go. He was breathing hard and fast, and he didn’t look at Hunk. Hunk reached out and placed a hand on Lance’s knee. It stilled into silence. 

Lance didn’t look at Hunk when he spoke. “That was too close,” he said. His voice sounded pained, sanded raw and painful from shouting. Hunk didn’t say anything. Lance leaned over another join and pulled a knot hard, hands gripped white-knuckle tight. “I told him to get out of the way.” He tugged harder on the knot, though it didn't seem like he was trying to check the join anymore. His forearm shook. “It was a real  _ estupido  _ move.”

Slowly, Hunk nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It was a real  _ lolo _ move.”

Lance laughed sharply, lips pulled up in a grimace. “No,” he said. “No,  _ lolo _ doesn’t do it justice. It was  _ estupido. _ ” He seemed to force himself to loosen his grip on the knot. He returned his hands to the reins and set his jaw, finally looking at Hunk. “You should head back with the others,” he said. 

“No,” Hunk said. Lance’s face twisted with confusion. If Lance started yelling, Hunk would probably melt on the spot, but for some reason he held firm. “I’m going back with you.”

Lance started in a tired voice. “Buddy-”

Hunk rode his courage like a wave and cut Lance off. “No,” he said. “Look, I know you're scared. I am too, but Keith’s fine.” Lance stared, mouth half open and eyebrows furrowed, but HUnk kept going. “Everything’s fine. It worked. Keith has always been stubborn. He- He tied himself to a bucking horse. He wrestles bulls- Hell, he even stands up to Shiro. He’s going to keep taking risks. Keith’s fine.”

The indignance in Lance’s eyes dropped. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. “He’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said quietly. “He’s fine.”

Lance opened his eyes, and all that was left in them was a bone-deep exhaustion. He slumped, like all his strings had been cut, and when he sighed, his breath shuddered on the way out. “You’re right,” Lance said. “You’re right, it’s just- I’m tired.”

Hunk put his hand on Lance’s shoulder. There was still a tremor there, deep as the lungs. He squeezed. “Let’s head back, alright?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, barely above a whisper. “Let’s head back.”

* * *

Lance kept his hat brim drawl low on the ride back to camp. Hunk smelled a fire before he saw it. Shiro sat closer to Keith than normal. His arm was off, sitting to the side of his sack. That side faced towards Keith, like it always did, but Shiro was turned away. Even still, he looked at Keith over his shoulder, like he was worried he might disappear. Lance’s boots scuffed as he stopped by the campsite. He loomed high over Hunk, the brim of his hat blocking out the moon. “Hey, why aren’t y’all asleep?” he said. 

Pidge shrugged. “We’re too jacked up,” she said. “It’s not exactly easy to wind down after that.”

“Fair enough,” Lance said. He dropped down on the dirt, an arms breadth and then some from Hunk’s side and away from the fire. He pulled his hat brim over his eyes and drew his knees up to his chest. 

Across the fire, there was a shuffling noise. Not a meaningful shuffle, with direction and purpose, but a nervous kind laced with uncertainty. Keith’s round eyes were unreadable, as always, but the lines around Shiro’s seemed to crease more deeply than usual, like scars healed wrong. 

Hunk cleared his throat. “Hey, how did you two meet?” he said. 

“Hmm.” It took a moment for Shiro’s gaze to catch up with the turn of his head. Keith rolled his eyes. “What?” he said. 

“I was just wondering,” Hunk said. “It- Nevermind.” 

“No,” Shiro said. “No, well-” He cracked a smile, though it seemed to be unsure around the edges. “It’s a funny story.” Behind him, Keith seemed to uncurl a bit. 

Hunk nodded. “I’d like to hear it,” he said. 

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, let me see,” he said. “I was seventeen at the time - I just reached my majority - and Keith was ten. Or well, he looked ten. It’s still hard to tell.”

Shiro snuck a glance at Keith, who huffed again. “Close enough,” he said. 

“Ten years old then,” Shiro said. “I was down by the docks one day, and I saw a circle of people.” He made a gesture with his hand. “A big one. I thought there had to be a fight, with that many people. Fights could get risky in that part of town-”

Keith snorted. “Risky?” he said, eyebrows ticked up incredulously. 

Shiro nodded a concession. “Dangerous, then. Point being, I pushed to the middle to break it up. The samurai - similar to lesser ali’i around here - they patrolled sometimes for criminals at the docks. Samurai didn’t like fights, and if they were in a bad mood-”

“Dangerous,” Keith said. “Good swords, good knives, bad men.” He thumbed at his collar bone, and in the low light Hunk could barely make out a long, silvery scar. “Dangerous.”

“They were dangerous,” Shiro said. “It was better to break up fights before they got there, and well,” he gestured down at his body. “I’m not a small guy. Breaking up fights is usually my job, especially back when I had both arms. So I pushed to the center - and it was a big circle, the kind that usually showed up for full-on brawls - and there was this scrawny little kid in the middle, wrestling with a boy twice his weight and screaming bloody murder.” Shiro laughed.

“Hey!” Keith said. He scrunched up his nose, but a corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Tried to steal my food. I was fair.”

“Yeah, sure you were,” Shiro said and rolled his eyes. “So I broke up the fight - and this one was fighting me like a demon the whole time,” Shiro pointed at Keith, “ I used to have a bite mark from him - and I started telling them both off for fighting in the street.” Keith chuckled. He probably hadn’t learned a thing. “And that’s when the samurai showed up. The other kid ran into the crowd, but this one looked like he wanted to fight a samurai.”

Shiro gave them a ‘can you believe it?’ kind of look. Hunk had never exactly met a samurai, but it was probably a pretty Keith move. “So I grabbed the kid’s arm and ran. We hid under my boat for the rest of the day, just to keep Keith from getting flogged for being a public nuisance. It was a hot day too, not pleasant hiding under a boat weather.” Shiro leaned back and shrugged. “And then I guess he just never left.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Didn’t let me leave,” he said. 

Shiro shoulder checked Keith. “Yeah, I didn’t,” he said. Keith smiled, just barely, and bumped Shiro back. 

Pidge was being quiet. She was curled up by the fire, breathing slow and steady. “Huh, look at that,” he said. 

Shiro glanced over. “So much for being ‘too jacked up,’” he said. “We should get to sleep too. It’s late.”

Shiro and Keith settled in as usual, quickly and efficiently, and with their backs facing towards each other. Hunk tried to settle back, he was certainly tired enough for it, but he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Lance was still drawn up small with his hat drawn low, out of the circle of firelight. Hunk scooted back towards him. The light of the fire didn’t quite reach them, not any more than the moon did, but under his hat brim Hunk could still see Lance’s pinched up eyes. 

“Hey,” Hunk said. “You should get some sleep too.”

Lance shook his head. “I’m not tired,” he said. He brushed his hat back to rub at his brow, and the bags under his eyes looked heavier than a decade of harvesting sandalwood. Lance looked so tired, and Hunks’ heart seized with it. 

He reached out and put his hand on Lance’s back. Lightly, enough that he could pull away if he had to. There was a twitch in Lance’s shoulder blades, junk enough that Hunk could feel it through his shirt, but otherwise, Lance did nothing. His face never changed, even as the fire popped ahead of them. Hunk pressed down harder and rubbed in slow circles, and the nubs of Lance’s spine pressed into Hunk’s palm even through the rough cotton of his shirt. “Just try to sleep, alright?” Hunk said. Lance didn’t respond. He didn’t say a word and still, his eyes never wavered from the heat of the fire. 

Like the exhale of a rain-laden sky, Lance moved again. He took off his hat and curled up on his side, back curved sharply and facing Hunk. Hunk began humming. Nothing special, not to him or anyone else who might hear it. Just a little mele that a friend of a friend once knew. It was a melodic song, the kind that the malihini liked. One that they said sounded like a lullaby. 

An almost native stiffness shifted away from Lance’s shoulders. Slowly, as slowly as the moon sank from the sky and the light of the fire dimmed, Lance’s breathing evened out, losing an almost bated hitch that Hunk had never noticed before. He almost looked serene, with the lines fading from his forehead and the tightness in his eyes melting away He looked years younger, no older than Hunk even, and even though there wasn’t the faintest hint of a smile. 

Hunk stood quietly. He put out the fire with a few scuffs of dirt and stretched out beside the embers. The stars were out that night, and their light felt softer than usual on the underside of his arms. Lance breathed softly, in that un-Lancelike way. Now Hunk could rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Well that was a bit more than a month. Pretty much, I had a backlog of almost-finished chapters, which I ran through. Writing from my outline takes a bit longer, hence delays. On the plus side, things have been very uneventful on my end, for better or for worse, so I'll be restocking that backlog. 
> 
> Ku’u is a first person possessive used to express fondness for something, like a family member or a romantic attachment. Now days the most common use is “ku’u home” (pronounce HO-may) which means my home, and is usually used to express affection for Hawai’i as your home. 
> 
> Keith’s move in this chapter (noticing an open gate with cattle stampeding towards it, getting up and running after his horse falls, and closing the gate just before the cattle reach it) was taken directly from stories of a man called Ah Sing. He was a paniolo around the turn of the century, and let's just say he was a wild one. One of the quotes said about him was “That goddamn Pupule Pake, he got no makau in his body.” Roughly translated, that means “that crazy [chinese person], he has no fear in his body.” He’s my entire inspiration for Keith’s character, tbh. 
> 
> The title comes from “the night herding song,” a traditional cowboy song recorded by the Library of Congress.


End file.
